


Ain't No Grave (That Can Hold My Body Down)

by imperialbones



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Biblical References, Complicated Relationships, Consent to Torture, Eden's Gate, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Penetrative Sex, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Retelling of Events, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialbones/pseuds/imperialbones
Summary: "The Savior said, All nature, all formations, all creatures exist in and with one another, and they will be resolved again into their own roots." The story isn't everything that the Father said that it was, but not every gospel is inherently false when details are obscured, when truth is warped by intent, and love is broken in the face of loss. The Deputy knows about loss better than most, especially when it comes to Joseph Seed.Anti-Fridge fic: noun. -- a fic where, instead of a female character getting killed off in order to further another character's back story, the female character in question lives on and everyone has to deal with it.





	1. The Arsonist's Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta, but if anyone wants to beta for me, you can reach out to me on tumblr @ atomickahuna. I also love headcanon questions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When I was a child, I'd sit for hours,_   
>  _Staring into open flame._   
>  _Something in it had a power,_   
>  _Could barely tear my eyes away._   
>  _All you have is your fire,_   
>  _And the place you need to reach._   
>  _Don't you ever tame your demons,_   
>  _But always keep 'em on a leash._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay, I haven't touched fic in years so let's try this, unbeta'd, for the first time in a long time. That said, typos that technology doesn't catch, let me know. After my ten-thousandth replay of the game, I decided one detail would make the story ten times more interesting in my opinion. So I'm writing it, and trust me, it's all planned out and I'm sure you'll forgive me if the first chapter is a bit short. There's even a timeline lmfao

“It’s policy to have new deputies on a probationary period of 90 days, but it’s just a formality.” Sheriff Earl Whitehorse assured, looking to the woman across from him at his desk. “You’re _more_ than qualified for the position. What was it like working in Baton Rouge?”

“I miss the food.” The woman across the desk grinned with a smile that was filled with the same happiness that the sun tanned her skin with; her thick black hair had that stylishly messy look even in the bun she had it in, half hidden under a university baseball cap. The nametag on her new uniform said ‘Locklear’ on it in white on black, and the chuckle the pair shared made it look like the name was laughing as well. “No offense to the Testy Festy here, of course.”

That had Whitehorse laughing a little harder as he rose from his seat the same time that she did. He guided her over to the door and lead the way out of his office, his hat in his hand poised for his head as soon as he was out from under a roof. The awkward handshakes had already happened with Hudson and Pratt; Locklear had enough good humor and wit to break the ice quickly. He looked to his other deputies as he answered Locklear. “M’sure there’s none taken. Pratt, you’re heading out soon, how about you let Winona try out the patrol car.”

Deputy Pratt looked up from his desk, feet crossed at the ankle atop it, and groaned softly. “I _guess_ I could let the probie drive. She really _shouldn’t_ be driving it yet.”

“Just don’t tell the boss.” Whitehorse chuckled, heading for the door; his warm sarcasm had done much to reassure the new deputy that she just might be in the right place. “Stick it to the man or whatever it is the kids say.”

Pratt looked to Locklear once the Sheriff was out the door. They all knew the reason he left early— the weekly ritual of a widower tending to cemetery comforts like fresh flowers and cleaned granite— and no one ever questioned it out of respect. There was no one who respected Whitehorse more than Hudson and Pratt, who had learned under Whitehorse to be exceptional law enforcement personnel. Locklear had made a point of learning what she could about the people she was working with; Hudson had a good heart and was there when Locklear's predecessor, Deputy Daniel Ballard, was killed. It didn't daunt Locklear to be filling a dead man's shoes— that was the unfortunate side-effect of their work. Pratt by contrast was the more carefree of the pair but he was dutiful and damn good at diffusing tense situations, which Locklear had been told happens a lot in Hope County.

Pratt and Locklear were on the road in short time, the radio on as they drove. Hope County was a collection of winding roads cutting tunnels through the Whitetail Mountains, hugging along the curves of the Henbane River, and cruising through Holland Valley. Soon enough, Deputy Winona Locklear had proven her worth at setting up a sand trap, and had the car parked behind a bush while Pratt manned the radar gun.

“So did the Sheriff have _the Talk_ with you about what’s been going on around here?” Pratt asked, earning a quirked eyebrow in his general direction as Locklear opened up a small bag of chips and began crunching, gold aviators with black lenses shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

“Is this some kind of hazing thing? Cause I’m not falling for it.” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. Pratt blew a quick raspberry before he continued on.

“No, there’s a group here—” They didn’t hear the engine until it was on them, roaring along the road past them, low and black and sleek. Locklear’s heart launched into her throat and she immediately threw the car in gear, not waiting for Pratt to tell her the car that just slammed past was 20 MPH over the speed limit while it casually broke the sound barrier. The curves ahead forced the car to slow down whether the driver wanted to or not, just as Locklear had intended while she pulled up behind the car, pedal against the floor just to keep up, lights on and sirens chirping in warning. Pratt looked stony, his hand on the safety strap over the holster on his hip.

“It’s okay, Pratt. No one’s going to get in a gunfight today.” Locklear smiled softly, waiting until Pratt had released his service weapon to step away from the squad car and approach the black car on the road. She'd read the report about Deputy Ballard. She knew what Pratt was thinking about the similar situation.

The driver’s side window— tinted so that the people inside could not be seen— finally rolled down. The silken voice from within surprised Locklear a little, but the charming smile that the driver flashed kept her focus. So it was one of _those_ types, hoping to talk their way out of it. “Good afternoon. It’s nice to see a new face among Hope County’s Finest.”

“Good afternoon, sir. Do you know how fast you were going?” Locklear wondered with a grin of her own. The man in the driver’s seat was… well, he was fucking _gorgeous_ in her opinion. He was certainly well-groomed— a maintained beard, clean tailored clothes— and what little of his skin visible under his rolled up sleeves was _covered_ in tattoos. She'd always had a weakness for that.

“Do _you_ , Deputy… Locklear?” He clocked the name tag, then resumed his smile. He had an edge, Locklear surmised, and he probably knew his rights well enough to ask that question… he had to be a lawyer.

“Are you normally this much of a wiseass, or only when you’re meeting a deputy you haven’t met  before?” Locklear grinned, the man in the car gasped softly and gently pressed an affronted hand to his chest.

“Deputy, I’m _wounded_. It was a simple question.” He answered as he gave that winning smile again. At the smile, Locklear shook her head.

“Oh, no. That smile might work on some of the girls but it’s not going to work on me. You’re still getting a written warning, Mister.”

“Call me John.”

“Mister John.”

Locklear got a sincere chuckle from him at that. She grinned as she wrote ‘Mister John’ on the form. If he was a lawyer worth anything, he knew it didn’t mean any kind of warning on his record if it didn’t have his legal name on it. She hadn't asked for his license and registration, either. Friendly but reinforcing that she’s doing him a favor, Locklear figured, as she handed the slip to Mister John in the car.

Mister John reached out and took the slip, his fingers brushing over her fingers as he did so, checking for the static charge of interest to flicker across her features, since the sunglasses obscured her eyes for a quicker read. She smirked as her only indication, a tough read to the end, even as her stomach did a backflip at the contact. “It was nice meeting you, John. Behave yourself.”

Pratt was a statue, completely unmoving in his seat when Locklear reclaimed her own behind the steering wheel. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “…do you have any idea who that was?”

“That fine piece of ass was Mister John.” Winona answered without missing a beat. Unabashed and not in the mood to debate the merits of writing a ticket on her first day on the job, Locklear turned up Joan Jett and the Blackhearts as they drove back to the station.

—

“This is Winona Locklear,” She managed to keep most of the sleep out of her voice even as she squinted over at her alarm clock and saw that it indicating 03:32 in bright blue. As in, thirty-two minutes into the three o’clock hour. In the morning.

“Hey, rookie.” Sheriff Whitehorse greeted, voice brisk as though he was only just waking up himself. “Got a call over the radio about a disturbance.”

“Earl, if it’s that Sharky guy, I _swear_ I’m—”

“No,” Whitehorse chuckled softly. “No, rook, we’re dealing with something I have been puttin’ off tellin’ you about. I’ll be at the motel in 12 minutes.”

“Dress for work?”

“And I’m bringing coffee.”

“Thank god.” Winona sighed and finally pulled herself out of bed. “Alright. I’m up. Let’s have _the Talk_ Pratt warned me about.”

“Ah, Hell… I was worried one of them would tell you something before I could.” Whitehouse sighed softly, before taking an audible slurp of his morning travel mug of coffee.

“No, I actually made sure he didn’t tell me anything before I could hear it from you.” Winona replied as she got dressed. She’d suspected that it was going to be a conversation about some kind of terrible crime that happened 20-some-odd years ago in a so-called “different time” from today. She'd lived that story before when she lived in Baton Rouge, and consistently made her disdain for such excuses clear. She'd do the same here if she had to.

“You’ve probably seen some people around wearing a, uh… I guess it’s a spikey equal-armed cross.” Whitehorse half-explained, half-mused. “They’re a part of a religious commune— or sect— here in Hope County.”

“Is this radio call you got about the sect?” Winona questioned, earning a yawned affirmative from the Sheriff.

“Yes and no.” He clarified once he was done yawning. “The call was about one of the members of the sect. He’s a veteran and I know you’ve got experience and trainin’ working with veterans.”

“Yeah, took two special courses through a program at my old precinct.” Winona finished dressing and began the challenging task of gathering up all of her hair into a ponytail. She remembered it had been mandatory following a rise in certain kinds of calls dispatch was getting as well as the kinds of tragic scenes that they would respond to when it was too late.

“Thanks, rook. Be there soon.”

By the time the headlights on Sheriff Whitehorse’s truck lit up the front of the motel, Locklear was waiting outside in her jeans and her uniform shirt under a thick jacket. It was downright frigid in Montana when the sun wasn’t out. Locklear hopped in on the passenger side and buckled up before giggling in delight at the travel mug in the passenger side cup holder just waiting for her to reach out and sip it. And sip it she did.

“So what’s the problem with this sect?” Locklear glanced over at Whitehorse, rolling one shoulder. Whitehorse sighed softly.

“Nothing that can be proven. We’ve gotten into scuffles with them in the past but they have good representation in court.” Whitehorse explained. “To keep the situation from escalating, I contacted the vet’s AA sponsor. They shared the information after the last time.”

“So this guy is a recurring problem. What’s his name?”

“Jude, but his sponsor’s name is Jacob.” Whitehorse answered as he reached into a cooler in the back seat and pulled out a slice of baked bread in plastic wrap. “Nancy insisted we try her banana bread.”

“It’s not too on-the-nose that they both have biblical names…?” Locklear mused, getting a chuckle from Whitehorse before he continued his explanation. As he did so, Winona excitedly unwrapped herself a slice of banana bread and tucked into it.

 “They got their Christian influences. They call themselves the Project at Eden’s Gate, so the locals call them Peggies, and the leader of the whole zoo is called the Father.” Whitehorse rewarded himself with a big gulp of coffee for giving such a good summary.

“Awesome, I was looking forward to some patriarchal bullshit.” Locklear chuckled dryly as they pulled in on a gravel driveway leading to a small cabin. Her smile faded quickly when she caught the smell of something burning. The lighter smoke coming from behind the cabin told her that whatever was burning was no longer still on fire.

The pair of them got out of the car at the same time, Whitehorse taking point and leading the way to the front porch and knocking loudly to make sure he was heard.

“Back here, Sheriff!” Boomed a voice, and Locklear took a side-step to check behind the cabin. Two men were in the clearing behind the cabin before a large fire pit. One of the men was sat in a folding lawn chair in just a sooty gray tank top and pajama pants, his thick hair darkening at the roots, face obscured by a grown out beard and mustache. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted, while the man beside him stood tall.

The man standing wore desert tan combat boots and oil-stained jeans, a camo field jacket over a pair of broad shoulders. His back was to Locklear as she approached, but even in the fading firelight she could see that he was marred by burn scars on his hands and forearms. Whitehorse followed Locklear closely and spoke up first. “I figured you would get here before us, Jacob. Appreciate it.”

Whitehorse had one of those hayseed voices that actually sounded sincere when he said things like ‘appreciate it’ and ‘good job’ and ‘you gotta be shitting me’. It made the one he called Jacob perk up and turn to face them, and the man visibly flinched when his eyes fell on Locklear.

“No problem.” Jacob answered simply, his eyes never leaving Winona’s face. Truth be told they were having a bit of a staring contest, she also keeping her gaze fixed on him. He looked familiar, like a face from a dream of a memory stuck in the back of her head. “…does Joseph know you’re here, Winona?”

“What?” Winona paused only for her stomach to bottom out when the dots finally connected in her head. _John, Jacob, Joseph. The Seed brothers._ She didn’t bother answering Jacob, covering her mouth with her hand and turning to just walk away. She had to because breathing in and facing the situation in front of her was too fucking terrifying.

“Do you want to tell me what that was?” Whitehorse finally asked about ten minutes later once he was done telling Jude not to light off his flamethrower after eleven o’clock.

“That man over there is Jacob Seed. I knew his brother Joseph when... It was a decade ago. Never met Jacob until now.” Winona was starting to ramble just out of sheer shock at the situation. The fucked up irony, the cruelty of it. “Never met John until a few days ago… I only— I only applied to the deputy position because some blocked number called and told me about it, I… I thought it meant _my_ father. Not _the_ father.”

“…you saying the Peggies called you to Hope County?” Whitehorse wondered, looking to Winona curiously. She shook her head no to him.

“No, Jacob just asked if Joseph knew. If Joseph knew I was here, Jacob wouldn’t have been surprised to see me.” She took a deep breath as she closed her eyes— she hadn’t thought about Joseph since Atlanta, since— her chest felt tight with anxiety and she shook her head again before taking another deep breath. “Joseph said they never kept anything from one another.”

They both got in the truck and pulled out of the gravel driveway and back onto the road. No one else, as far as either one of the people in the truck knew, was aware that she was in Hope County. But Jacob and Joseph didn’t keep secrets from one another, so undoubtedly soon, Joseph would be one of the few who _did_ know.


	2. No Way Out But Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Right as rain red as rust,_   
>  _Brick by brick I turn to dust._   
>  _No, I never had a name that you could trust._   
>  _Of all the deeds I've ever done,_   
>  _I am not proud of a single one._   
>  _So let me rot beneath the burning sun,_   
>  _I'm on my way, I'm on my way..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The collective shit hits the fan in Hope County, but the train hopped off the track a decade ago. Another unbeta'd chapter! Who is Consistent Chapter Length idk her. You're awesome <3

“This is _fucking insane_.” Hudson sighed softly, looking from Pratt to Locklear and back. “A federal warrant doesn’t mean a _thing_ to these people.”

“I’m thinking Marshal Burke didn’t get that memo.” Pratt sighed softly, then took a few gulps from the soda can he was nursing. He needed the caffeine but he was already jittery enough; Locklear could see the way he kept jiggling his leg.

“The Project sees the American government as corrupt. They’re not going to respect its authority.” Locklear agreed, getting another sideways glance from Pratt.

“I saw you been doing a lot of reading in our files now that Sheriff told you about the Peggies.” He hummed into his soda can before finishing it and crushing it under his boot.

“Got to, if I’m gonna deal with them at all.” Locklear sighed. “I mean, it’s not like—”

“LOCKLEAR!”

They all looked to the Sheriff’s office where the shout came from, Locklear rising from her seat and walking into the office and closing the door behind her. “You rang, Marshal?”

Sheriff Whitehorse rarely shouted his subordinates into falling in. He didn’t need to. He sat behind his desk with a resigned frown as Marshal Burke answered her. “Just what the hell about your _history_ negates conflict of interest?”

“It doesn’t.” Locklear answered simply.

“I trust her, Marshal. She gave me the full story and the truth is good enough for me.” Sheriff Whitehorse’s voice was as genuine as it was exasperated. And he and the Marshal had been going back and forth for an hour already on multiple subjects, for frame of reference.

“You trusting her and the law are two different things.” Burke scowled, earning an audible scoff from Locklear.

“Please. I can legally testify against him. If I can do that, I can be present for an arrest.” Locklear had decided that being present for Joseph’s arrest was important. Perhaps the surprise of seeing her would keep Joseph’s mind on her and not on rousing his followers to defend him. She didn’t think he would ever use his influence that way when she knew him in the past, but then… Joseph didn’t have a lot of influence in those days.

“How old are you, rook? You had to be young then. _Impressionable_.” Burke’s annoyed tone pulled Locklear out of her memories.

“Not that it’s _any_ of your fuckin’ business,” Winona’s lip curled on reflex. “But I’m 31 years old. And I was a young _adult_ capable of making _big girl_ decisions. Thanks.”

Locklear checked out of the conversation, turning on her heel and heading back out into the bullpen. Pratt and Hudson both looked at Locklear with neutral expressions— they didn’t want to react until they were sure of how she was feeling. Locklear mimed a gun to her head and rolled her eyes. The pair of them nodded enthusiastically in their own irritation. Winona sat down at her desk, anger bubbling away in her chest. The wheels of Hudson’s chair rolled along the wood flooring until her chair stopped beside Winona’s desk. “Hey, rookie. He’s a dick.”

“I _know_ he’s a dick. Doesn’t mean it’s not bullshit.” Winona pouted, glancing at Hudson, who nodded. “I mean. You heard the tone but he… I dealt with that kinda bullshit when I became a cop. I was a young cop, I was a woman, and I was married and divorced young… people just told me all my life that I should slow down and be more careful—”

“Leave it to whatever boy is present in any given situation?” Hudson asked wryly and Winona nodded like a bobble head. The pair exchanged laughs for a moment before Sheriff Whitehorse and the Marshal came out of the office.

“We’re goin’ in.” Whitehorse sighed softly, all three of his deputies rising to their feet.

“This is crazy, Sheriff.” Pratt shook his head. “They got road blocks. Are we supposed to just _drive_ in?”

“We’re taking the chopper.” Burke answered, earning groans of disdain from everyone.

“If we go in guns blazing with a chopper, they’ll shoot first.” Hudson countered. For a long time she believed that the driver who shot Deputy Ballard was someone from Eden’s Gate, but there hadn’t been enough evidence to prove who the shooter was period, never mind their affiliations in Hope County.

“The law is the law. You are the law and order of this county. You’re equipped and armed.” The Marshal wasn’t really giving them any room to disagree. Whitehorse shook his head and lead the way out to the landing pad, his deputies in tow. Locklear was last out the door when Marshal Burke stepped up and stopped her.

“He’s not the man you think he is.” Burke sighed softly, handing Locklear a smartphone with a video queued up on the screen. “Or the man you remember. He’s a murderer.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll have to see that for myself.” Locklear shoved past Burke to head for the chopper.

Winona didn’t mind flying. She knew how to fly a helicopter though planes were a vehicle still new to her. She knew she’d get a piloting license for that if she stayed in Hope County long enough. Once she was seated in the back with Sheriff Whitehorse and Marshal Burke, Locklear took the time to look at the video.

Cellphone footage was easy to distinguish from a proper video camera; she watched as a person made their way into a church, but she couldn’t actually hear what anyone was saying in the video, not with her headset on. The person operating the phone tried their best to keep it subtle, even as they zoomed the video in on Joseph’s face; it made Locklear’s heart clench in her chest to see him.

He looked older, the hair of his beard thicker and his hair longer in the back— it wasn’t long enough for a bun the last time that she’d seen him— she remembered that much. She didn’t look away from the video even as he gauged out the eyes of the intruder. She didn’t look up until the video cut out entirely.

“Rookie. Hey, rookie! You’re wastin’ your time, there’s no signal out here.” Whitehorse sighed softly, keeping his voice light. When Locklear had told him everything, they had both agreed it was for the best that she not run into Joseph anytime soon, but the Marshal’s arrival had put a wrench into _that_ plan.

“Crossing over the Henbane now.” Pratt announced, knowing Locklear had yet to go over the river and see the statue up close. She’d called bullshit when he’d tried to tell her that there was a giant statue of Joseph, even as he’d pointed it out in the distance. Locklear looked at the statue in disbelief as they flew right by it, which gave her a pretty good look up close.

“Oh fuck, there he is.” Hudson griped dryly as though she hadn’t seen the statue coming and was greeting an unpleasant surprise.  Locklear heard Pratt mutter ‘crazy motherfucker’ under his breath and it made her stomach bottom out. Joseph Seed, in her experience, was many complicated things. But he wasn’t crazy.

She began to tune out Whitehorse’s next attempt to convince the Marshal they should turn around— she knew there was no way that Burke would actually comply with Whitehorse’s request. They were going into the lion’s den whether it was a good idea or not.

—

_“Can you imagine what it could be like, if we had a well-coordinated group of people willing to prepare for the worst?” Joseph mused, earning a grin from Winona as she turned down Faith Hill on the little tinny stereo they had with them in favor of listening to him._

_“A gaggle of doomsday peppers?” She joked, earning a chuckle from Joseph who tilted his hand both ways to say ‘kinda’. They were comfortable out on the grass in front of the Atlanta Public Library on a blanket in the September sun. It was only just starting to cool off outside._

_“Preparedness like that is going to be commercialized like everything else in America.” Joseph answered without missing a beat of what he was saying, even as others walked by giving strange looks. “They don’t plan for anything specific. We could because I’ve seen what’s going to happen.”_

_His blue eyes always flicked over to her constantly, as though uncertain she’d even be standing there once he was done speaking, he was so used to people writing him off. But Winona didn’t, not only remaining but moving closer, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck loosely, and kiss him with a tenderness that came from familiarity and understanding._

_“Joseph… I mean this as lovingly as I can. You’re prepared for any kind of apocalypse like a cockroach is. No one knows how, no one knows why, but they just_ know _you’ll be alive after the world ends.”_

_“I could take that like a compliment.” Joseph’s smile was like a sunrise and Winona woke to it immediately, soaking in its warmth before caving in to kiss it away. Joseph’s arms wrapped around her and she felt like she’d never leave that embrace._

_—_

But leave it she did.

“Now listen up, three rules!” Whitehorse said over the sound of the helicopter blades once they were landed at the compound. “Stick close. Keep your guns in your holsters. Let me do the talking. Got it?”

“Got it.” Burke answered like he wasn’t the one wanting to go in like a hardass the whole time.

“Rookie?” Sheriff Whitehorse looked to Locklear, who nodded resolutely. He held her gaze for a fraction of a second longer— he knew, unlike others, that it had been ten years since Locklear had seen Joseph Seed. Almost eleven. “Alright everyone, stay sharp. Let’s go!”

Locklear walked slowly along the dirt path as she heard Whitehorse mention that Joseph would be in the church. The people that lingered— the Peggies— watched as Locklear continued down the path. She kept her head down and just glanced around occasionally as she followed, letting Hudson keep watch with her while Burke and the Sheriff bickered.

Locklear remembered telling Joseph she didn’t go to church. Her mother hadn’t enforced it following her father dying— a firefighter gone up in a wildfire like a national Joe of Arc, martyred for everyone’s emotional gratification when Locklear brought it up. Her grandmother, with her worn hands and salty hair and the accent of a child who spoke Dine and was forced into speaking English, told Winona of the beliefs of her heritage. She would hold Winona in her warm hugs— the giving kind that only grandparents can muster— and tell her about how she was connected to the wind and the sun and the earth. That was the closest Winona used to get to faith before she met Joseph.

The sound of the people singing Amazing Grace inside the church pulled Winona out of her memories; that was one of the songs that Joseph would sing often. She remembered that it grounded him to hear it, she'd even sing it _to_ him sometimes…

“Whoa, Marshal.” Sheriff Whitehorse rested his hand over the door that the Marshal was about to pull open without preamble. “Now we do this, we do it my way. Quietly. _Calmly_. You got it?”

Locklear could see that the Sheriff was trying, he really was. He had been in law enforcement for decades; he had been in a uniform when he'd seen Jonestown on the news. He'd been in uniform when he'd seen Waco on the news. Locklear could read in every syllable, in his very body language, that the Sheriff was trying desperately to make sure that people didn't see Hope County on the news, didn't talk about the place like it had the black stain of notoriety on it.

“Fine.” Burke said it so flatly that Locklear couldn't resist rolling her eyes before perking up as Whitehorse continued talking.

“Hudson, on the door. Watch our backs. Don't let any of these people get in.” He looked around cautiously, and they all understood. If he could take the time to talk in the church to Joseph, he might have the chance to talk Joseph Seed out and resolve this with minimum fuss. “Rookie— on me.”

Locklear straightened up— she was so busy trying to quell the gurgling nervousness in her stomach that she didn't have it in her to laugh when Whitehorse told Burke not to do anything stupid. Burke seemed to think this wasn't something to get nervous about. "Relax, Sheriff— you're about to get your name in the paper."

They all moved into place, Hudson taking one look at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Locklear's face and murmuring to her, "You'll be fine."

But then the doors, the proverbial flood gates, were opening and the singing stopped entirely, washing the four of them in the light coming from the church— warm compared to the cool air outside in the night. Locklear fell into step behind Whitehorse and Burke as they entered the church. She was prepared for the questioning, mistrusting gazes of the Peggies around her. She was prepared for the smell of incense and gunpowder. She was prepared to hear whispers and voices… but even after all of the build-up, she wasn't prepared for his.

"Something is coming. You can feel it, can't you?" Joseph's voice echoed through the church, much like their boots on the wood flooring did. He stood with his back to them at first, showing that he had the same cross symbol tattooed on his bare back. He wore only a pair of jeans, a pair of boots, and an empty thigh holster-- whatever gun that belonged in it was not present. There were scars that Winona remembered over his skin, and scars she did not, especially the ones that were the seven sins carved in various places on his body; his voice pulled her forward from assessing the changes. "That we are creeping toward the edge… and there will be a reckoning. That is why we started the Project."

The reckoning, Locklear remembered, wasn't something Joseph talked about when they knew each other a lifetime ago in Atlanta. He spoke only of gathering and surviving. He spoke of hope and harmony. He spoke of all the problems of the world and it was all the words Winona had already thought in her head and at that time, she _believed in him_ just as much as she _agreed with him_ but as he spoke now… she didn't feel he spoke to her as part of his flock. Because she wasn't.

"Because we know what happens _next_." Joseph continued as they walked further into the church. Locklear could hear the crickets outside still. "They will come. They will try to take from us. Take our guns. _Take our freedom_ … take our _faith_!"

Locklear's heart clenched as she stepped finally out of the shadows and into the light that the cross shone into the church. She didn't have her sunglasses to hide behind. Just a beat up University of Atlanta cap that Joseph had seen when it was new.

"But we will not _let them_."

"Sheriff, c'mon---"

"Just hold on, Marshal." Whitehorse held a hand up. It was rude to interrupt, Locklear supposed, but Joseph wasn't one to play chicken with when it came to his ability to rouse reactions from the people around him. Winona had seen him speak so eloquently that he could bring a cold heart to loving tears, and a peaceful soul to rousing rage.

"We will not let their _greed_ , their _immorality_ , or their depravity hurt us anymore!" Joseph preached, he really did, but in a way that made it feel as though he was speaking to one person and not a congregation, even when his voice raised in volume. "There will be no more suffering!"

Locklear wanted to listen to him. She did, but couldn't, watching the tug of war between Whitehorse and Burke, her stomach plummeting when she saw the Marshal's hand go to his gun briefly or so she thought. In truth, he'd pulled out the warrant and Winona saw it with a flourish as Burke shouted out. "Joseph Seed! I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm!"

_Really?_ Winona frowned-- they had footage of Joseph gauging a man's eyes out, why wasn't aggravated assault or attempted murder on that warrant too? John Seed rose from his seat and it clicked in Locklear's head-- if they'd used the video for the warrant, John would do all he could to have it thrown out of the trial. Burke continued speaking.

"Now I want you to step forward, and keep your hands where I can see 'em."

Joseph's hands raised slowly, and he lifted to expose his palms like he was reaching out to calm a panicking stallion… or mare. Locklear's gaze was burning a hole through Joseph's head as he spoke. "Here they are… the _locusts_ in our garden. You see, they've come for me. They've come to take me away from you. They've come to destroy all that we've built!"

The people around them began to rise and clamor around their Father. Some shouted in agreement to his words while others continued to square themselves up for a fight. Locklear saw hell break loose in slow motion; Burke reached for his weapon, Sheriff Whitehorse's hand flew out to try and stay Burke's hand, while his other went to his own holster. The shouting overlapped until it reached a crescendo. Immediately, Joseph rested a hand on the shoulder of one of his men and they all grew silent.

"We knew this moment would come." He said calmly as though he hadn't just incited their ire against Burke two seconds prior. "And we have prepared for it… go. _Go_. God will not let them take me."

Locklear looked up as Joseph dismissed his followers. His brothers moved to flank Joseph, Jacob on the left and John on the right, and a young woman beside John in a white dress. Locklear paused because the young woman was clearly important, clearly a part of the family, but Locklear knew for a fact Joseph didn't have a sister. She looked back to Joseph as he spoke again.

"I saw when the Lamb opened the First Seal, and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say _come and see_!"

"Step. Forward." Burke was nothing if not stubborn.

“…and I _saw_.” Joseph raised a hand and pointed right at Burke before regarding the Sheriff as well.  “And behold it was a white horse…”

For the first time since they had entered the church, Joseph Seed’s gaze fell upon the Deputy before him. Dark brown met pale blue that was hidden behind a lens of yellow and the entire church seemed to melt away.

“And Hell followed with him.”

He sounded bemused, as though he had discovered a long lost missing set of keys. His hands raised to Winona, palms up and the worn rosary wrapped around his hand dangling. She didn’t really react to the Marshal’s barked order to “cuff this sonuvabitch” at first, but then her hand reached out to rest in one of his, his fingers curled around hers and slowly he closed the other hand over hers.

“Sometimes the best thing to do… is to walk away.”

Locklear flinched at her own words being flung back at her, ten years later. The pain spurred action, and the Deputy pulled out her cuffs and snapped them onto Joseph’s wrists. He was silent, watching Locklear until she moved to stand behind him and escort him out of the church.

The walk to the chopper was a little daunting, a gauntlet of distressed and angry followers shouting their objections at the Sheriff, Marshal Burke, Hudson, and Locklear alike. All the while, Locklear felt a knowing sense of calm fall over her as it had inexplicably her entire life.

The dogs were barking, the faithful were weeping, and all Burke had was the angry statements that he was a federal marshal. Wasn’t long before he was firing rounds in the air as they scrambled to get in the chopper. Even then, as they got into the chopper, Locklear knew was going to happen. Their guns wouldn’t stop the Peggies, who would swarm the chopper if it meant preventing them from taking the Father.

The panic was mounting as Winona fumbled quickly to get Joseph buckled in before buckling in herself. She shouted with the others for Pratt to please just hurry the fuck up and take off when it all really went to hell in a hand basket, with the cherry on top being the crash that knocked Winona unconscious.

—

_“And in other news today, the President has vowed to cut funding to public restrooms, making a statement on his twitter account saying that a certain brown emoji happens.”_

_Winona flipped the channel to a reality cooking competition just to get away from even more depressing information. Her cell buzzed on the table— she was so used to it ringing at odd hours that she didn’t actually bother checking the caller ID. “This is Lieutenant Locklear.”_

_The static in the connection immediately made her want to hang up but the words made her pause. “—Father is in Hope County. Should learn to— messes… Learn— with the Sheriff’s depar— wasting time…”_

_Winona looked down at the phone to check the number. It was a blocked call. Irked, she hung up the phone and dropped it on the table. Her father had been working on a wildfire in Colorado when he’d died, but she couldn’t recall her mother ever mentioning anywhere in Colorado called Hope County._

_Winona picked her phone back up and googled until she found the tourism website for Hope County, Montana. In the bottom corner, a notice from the Sheriff’s Department caught her eye. They were hiring._

—

“Please, are you there? _Are you there?_ Are you there, Sheriff?”

It was strange to see the world upside down. Locklear couldn’t remember the moment they crashed, only the way it nauseated her when she saw the blood on the windshield after one of the Peggies decided stopping the main rotor blade was worth dying for, right before they went down.

“Deputy Hudson, if you’re there, please pick up.”

Nancy was a nice lady, Locklear was remembering too. Great banana bread. But the more pressing matter was that everything hurt, especially her head, and Winona was sincerely hoping she wasn’t concussed… if not, it was probably the whiplash and shock that was making her so damn sluggish. Finally, her arms started working and Locklear began reaching for the headset.

“Deputy Pratt? Are you there? Are you there?”

Now that the ringing in her ears was coming down in volume, Winona could hear Joseph singing but couldn’t place where from. She had to tell Nancy they went down. Finally the headset swung into her hand and Locklear gasped in relief only to wince at how it hurt her to do so. That was probably a broken rib.

A hand closed around Winona’s wrist and her eyes snapped up to Joseph’s bruised face. Miraculous, how his glasses were fine. He took the headset that Winona didn’t try to keep from him. “Dispatch. Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.”

Winona sighed in disappointment more than anything else when Nancy answered, “Yes, Father. Praise be to you.”

“No one is coming to save you.” Joseph whispered.

“That’s okay.” Winona croaked, eyes never leaving his. “I don’t need saving.”

A few white trucks with the Eden’s Gate cross spray painted onto the doors pulled up to the upturned chopper, and Joseph quickly crawled out to assure his flock he was alright, much to their relief.

“Everything is unfolding according to God’s plan. I am still here with you.” He could be heard saying over he sound of dripping gasoline, before he climbed onto the hood of one of the trucks to speak louder. “The first seal has been broken. The Collapse has begun. And we will take what we need. And we will preserve what we have. And we will kill all those who stand in our way. And these, the harbingers of doom, will see the truth.”

His voice must’ve been what woke Locklear’s coworkers. Slowly as he spoke Whitehorse, then Hudson, then Pratt woke, the Sheriff audibly saying from the front passenger seat that they needed to get out of the chopper.

“BEGIN THE REAPING.”

That didn’t sound nice, and what happened next didn’t _feel_ nice either. They were racing against the clock, the faithful reaching into the chopper. They smelled the gas and saw the gas just as the officers in the chopper had and everyone was scrambling. Hudson was the first to be pulled out despite Locklear trying desperately to reach out for her, followed quickly by Pratt and the Sheriff.

Strong hands gripped Locklear’s arms in a vice after she managed to unbuckle her seatbelt, dragging her across the roof and out of the chopper. The gasoline ignited just as her legs were poised to clear the window and despite her efforts, Winona cried out when the leg of her jeans caught fire. It distracted the Peggies while the Marshal managed to unbuckle his own seatbelt and take off into the wilderness.

Calloused and bruised hands reached down and smothered the fire out quickly. Joseph looked up from where he had put the fire out and spoke to his men. “Take them to my Family. She will return with me.”

“But Father—”

A flaming arrow lodged into the zealot’s back, all hell among the Peggies breaking loose. Two of them grabbed onto the Father and dragged him to a truck, pushing him inside and taking off down the road. The others began to open fire on where they thought the arrows were coming from but whoever was shooting at them was mobile along the tree line. Winona rose to her feet even as the burning sting along her leg told her to not move.

She didn’t bother drawing her gun, she didn’t bother speaking out. She ran. Locklear bolted as fast as her bruised muscles and fractured bones could let her, taking off into the forest and scrambling through the foliage until she couldn’t hear their shouting anymore. Soon enough, Winona was at the stony shore and a bridge overlooking the Henbane greeted her to her left.

She had run. She finally had a chance to face down Joseph, her past, his actions, all of it… and she had run. Exhausted and ashamed, the deputy collapsed beside the river, and let unconsciousness consume her.

—

“My children,” Joseph’s voice sounded modulated and far away. “We must give thanks to God. The day I have prophesied to you has arrived. Everything I’ve told you has come true… the authorities who tried to take me from you are now in the loving embrace of my Family… save for one.”

Winona stirred, opening her eyes and looking around blearily. Joseph’s voice resonated over the radio while a figure loomed into view. “But this Wayward Soul will be found. They will be punished… and in the end, they will see our glorious purpose. I am your Father. You are my Children. And together, we will march to—”

The figure turned off the radio and then turned around to face Locklear, who squinted up until her eyes adjusted and she could see he was a balding older man. “You know what that shit means? It means the roads have all been closed. It means the phone lines have been cut. It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley. But mostly it means we’re all fucked.”

“Tactfully put.” Locklear muttered, tugging at the zip ties cuffing her to the bed she was sat beside.

“The goddamn ‘Collapse’… they all think the world’s coming to an end, now. They’ve been waiting for it—”

“Just who the fuck are you and why am I cuffed to a bed?” Winona felt like going off-script. She tugged a little at the zip ties to prove a point.

“Name’s Dutch. I’m the one who called you here in the first place.”

“ _You’re_ the one who called me?”

“The Project at Eden’s Gate is going to tear this county apart. There’s only one way to stop them is to stop Joseph Seed, and that’s probably only going to happen thanks to a bullet.”

“And you expect _me_ to be the one pulling the trigger?” Winona looked at him incredulously, tugging at the zip ties around her wrists.

“Maybe. I just know you might be the only way to show his people he ain’t perfect. Because of who you are and how you ruin the story.”

“What’s the story that Joseph tells people?”

“The basic story is that his wife and daughter died in Georgia after a car accident.”

Winona’s breath caught at how casual Dutch was about the explanation. She glared down at the floor, muttering. “Our daughter was born premature because of the car accident and she just… she didn’t make it.”

“Sorry to hear that. But I don’t imagine you like your name bein’ used like that for whenever the Father needs to garner sympathy.”

Quietly, Locklear spoke, rolling her shoulder again. “I don’t need to kill my ex-husband in order to stop him.”

Dutch rose from his seat and pulled out a pocket knife, unfolding it before cutting the zip ties off of Locklear’s wrists. He pocketed the knife again and rose to his feet. “With the Reaping underway, Eden’s Gate is going to be taking over the entire valley. Get supplied, you’ve got work to do either way.”

Winona rose to her feet, rubbing her wrists wearily as she followed Dutch out of the room they were in. It didn’t take much looking around to determine they were in one of those quaint little prepper bunkers. Winona’s gut kept telling her Dutch wasn’t a direct danger to her, but was dangerous nonetheless. Still, she took a look at his homemade war room, a tack board map of Hope County and how it was divided up among the three people that Dutch had labeled as “Heralds”, probably a title Joseph came up with— she knew that was his brand of dramatic.

“Faith Seed isn’t a biological Seed sibling.” Winona points out, taking down the picture of Faith that Dutch had pinned up in order to get a better look at her. “We almost named our daughter that but then I couldn’t stand the puns that would’ve been made.”

“What name did you choose?” Dutch mused as he watched Winona pin the picture back up.

“Haseya.” She answered with a sigh. “After my grandmother.”

Locklear didn’t feel like sharing anything else about her daughter. In truth, she didn’t feel like sharing anything at all. She looked at each page with information about each Seed sibling’s information, listening to Dutch as he spoke again.

“You’re not getting to Joseph Seed until you’ve taken down his Heralds. John’s running through Holland Valley taking whatever he wants. Jacob’s begun hunting down the Whitetail Militia and has been the commander of the Father’s militant forces. Faith is the one growing the bliss flowers that cause hallucinations and compliance from their hostages.”

Locklear turned away from the board and checked her equipment. “Guess I better get going.”

“You got a target on your back wearing that uniform.” Dutch warned her, to which Winona rolled her eyes.

“I’m gonna have a target on my back no matter what I’m wearing. I just opened the First Seal according to these people.” She had a hard time calling them Peggies. It seemed like a way to dehumanize them, just as said Peggies used ‘sinner’ to justify themselves right back.

Locklear headed up the stairs out of the bunker and into the sunlight, taking a deep breath in through her nose as she soaked up the sunlight. Her side was stiff but it was bearable now, which meant that she had been dealing with— miraculously— a bruised rib instead of a broken one.

Locklear pulled her sunglasses on and headed off down the trail. She had to get back to the station and get her truck. 

—

_On one of the pillars leading into the public library, there was a black and yellow sign that read FALLOUT SHELTER in imposing caps. Winona had  seen it and thought it an interesting piece of history, from a time when people sincerely feared an atomic apocalypse. She always tapped the sign on her way into the library. That’s what she did the first time she laid eyes on Joseph Seed._

_Her palm rested over SHELTER on the sign as she regarded the stormy clouds hanging over the library in their greenish-blue hue. It made her wary, but she'd turned on the news for the weather before she left her apartment and there were no warnings yet. A flash of light caught her eye from in front of the library; with the weather being what it had been recently, she thought it might’ve been a flash of lightning. What she saw instead was a man approaching the library as well, a few thick books tucked under one arm._

_He was a slim but fit build, a soft fuzz of brown along his jaw and growing in— it would look good as a beard one day— a pair of cheap aviator glasses. He looked up hesitantly with disarmingly blue eyes— could he have been looking at her? It was tough to tell given the distance between them— Winona laughed and waved just to confirm if the man was looking at her or not. His eyebrows briefly raised and then he gave a wave back._

_The cute moment, budding and awkward as it was, was interrupted by a loud thunder clap and another flash of lightning. Feeling uneasy about the sky, Winona turned and headed into the library. The man followed her inside and headed for the front desk past her. Winona looked around the lobby of the library and frowned slightly when she saw that one of the TVs on mute in the Children's section of the library had the weatherman on again and_ this time _, he was reporting that there was a tornado warning. Figures._

_Winona was about halfway through skimming the library's section on criminal justice before the sirens went off. A library shuffled over and raised her voice as high as a 70-something year old voice box could allow her to go. "Patrons, please calmly head down to the fallout shelter!"_

_The energy among the patrons and staff was nervous, but not panicked. The only reason this was all happening was because of Katrina in the gulf, as the weatherman had said, and everyone shuffled down the stairs in a semi-orderly fashion. Winona still had a couple of law books in her arms when she skidded off the last step down the stairs and had one go flying out of her hand. A firm hand closed around her shoulder while another caught the flying book on its way down._

_"Oh! Thanks." She looked up at him with a smile, which widened when she realized it was the stranger who wasn't too cool to wave back to someone he didn't know._

_"You're welcome." He answered with an amber voice, falling into step beside her as they made their way into the fallout shelter. The librarian who had summoned everyone to the shelter closed the double doors and attempted to latch the door but it was industrial and not easily snapped into place._

_The stranger who caught Winona’s books stepped forward and offered his assistance, which was accepted with nervous appreciation. Once the door was secure, everyone turned their attention to taking their seats on the benches provided in the shelter. A couple of filing cabinets had found their way into the shelter in the library’s lifetime, and Winona leaned against one of them to leave the benches for those who needed them. The stranger came to stand beside her on the opposite side of the filing cabinet; Winona noted that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. But she's the one who spoke first._

_"My name's Winona. What's yours?"_

_"I'm Joseph."_

—

Deputy Locklear leaned back in the seat of her truck, just trying to catch her breath. A soft whine sounded from beside her before the dog beside her moved on the passenger seat to rest his head on her thigh. Winona had only met Rae-Rae and her son Ryan briefly before the Reaping began, when their pumpkin patch was still running and they weren't yet considering leaving the county, but the first impression had been a good one. It was clear to see why everyone else in Hope County adored their dog Boomer, who was an incredibly loyal, intelligent, and downright _adorable_ blue heeler.

There was dirt under her nails still from the makeshift graves she'd made for the pair of them. The Project was taking whatever they wanted and it was clear they didn't care or didn't believe they had the time to care about comforting the dead. But Locklear did.

Locklear's hand gently moved to rest on Boomer's head and she scratched gently behind the dog's ear before she started the car and took off down the road away from Rae-Rae's Pumpkin Patch, just one of the many shuttered businesses in the wake of the Project at Eden's Gate taking over Hope County piece by piece. The radio in her truck crackled to life and Dutch's voice came in. "Dep? Deputy, you copy?"

"I copy, Dutch. I don't really feel like talking to you." Locklear answered after she picked up her receiver. "I appreciate you making sure that I didn't get eaten by a bear or something when you found me passed out by the river. And I agree with you that I gotta do something… over, I guess."

"You guess? Joseph Seed's hurting good people. You know what he's capable of, over."

"Joseph Seed believes that the world is going to end. Good people die in the apocalypse. Death doesn't care if you're good or bad, over." Winona put on her blinker and took a turn down another road. The bridge out of Holland Valley came around the corner and Winona continued driving.

"That doesn't mean you _don't do_ something about it, over."

"He who casts the first stone, Dutch." Locklear's tone was a sing-song warning before she continued as she passed from the Holland Valley, which was under John's jurisdiction, and into the Henbane River region that was in Faith Seed's hands. "I'm going to get some fucking answers as to how Eden's Gate got to where it is now. And I am going to change things. But I'm not doing this for you. And I'm not doing this your way. I'm no one's fuckin' puppet, Dutch, you hear me? If I need you, I'll radio you. Otherwise, stay the fuck out of my way. Over and out."


	3. Old Time Religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s got old time religion._   
>  _Buries his cash in a coffee can,_   
>  _And he makes his decisions,_   
>  _Down on his knees, yeah, he’s a full grown man,_   
>  _And he had a vision,_   
>  _Of a fire, it burned up all of the land._   
>  _You could call it superstition,_   
>  _You could run just as fast as you can!_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a little shift in point of view. Also **trigger warning for mentioned infant death** ; nothing graphic or particularly twisted but I wanted to give ample warning.

“She’s in your region.” John sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. Which was normal considering his anger management issues. Faith had suggested chamomile at one point but he hadn't followed that recommendation. “The Father wants her to reach the atonement. It is crucial that she be brought into the fold.” 

“I’m not concerned,” Faith answered airily, shouldering the landline phone she was using to talk to John while she read through the latest inventory sheets for the Bliss. Feeney was a gift when it came to being her lead chemist but a nightmare when it came to inventory. “She’s coming to me because she wants to talk, John. She doesn’t trust you, or Jacob, or the Father.”

“ _I’m_ not her ex-husband—”

“But you _do_ envy him because you’re attracted to her.” Faith brushed her fingers through her hair; she had figured out John’s resentment and posed anger quickly, especially after she found the Mister John ticket. “Envy is a sin, John.”

After a long pause undoubtedly filled with John silently grinding his teeth, he spoke. “Have her take the Pilgrimage or I will have her cleansed until she’s worthy of taking your place.”

Faith rolled her eyes when John hung up on her, hanging up her own phone and resuming her paperwork. John threatened often because he liked to pretend that he was a wrung above Faith when he truly wasn’t. She reached out to take the glass of water on her desk, gaze flickering over to it briefly before she gave pause. The glass was shaking on her desk.

**_SLAM._ **

The door to Faith’s office was kicked open abruptly and the barrel of a gun pointed right at her as Deputy Winona Locklear entered the room. She wasn't dressed in her uniform, but rather a pair of beat up jeans, military-issue combat boots, a holster on each thigh for her weapons, a tactical vest full of ammo and supplies, and a black high-collared underarmor shirt. The gun in her hand wasn't smoking, but the hammer was pulled back to prove a point. “We need to talk, Rachel.”

—

_"There's something that I have to tell you," Joseph began in a measured voice, each letter and syllable carefully considered before he spoke. "But I'm concerned whether or not it will change your perception of me if you hear it."_

_Winona lived in a small apartment that she could just barely afford on a student's salary while she worked a typical fast food job. She didn't mind the hours, compared to the odd hours that Joseph had at the institute he was working at. He'd told her reluctantly about his job as though there was something to be apologetic about. He didn't lack confidence in explaining himself or who he was as a person. He lacked the belief that those around him wouldn't pass judgement._

_"We met in a fallout shelter, Joseph." Winona chuckled softly as she reached out to gently stroke her fingers along his jaw and the soft fuzz there. "I don't think anything is going to happen typically for us, so unless you're telling me that you were the star witness in Martha Stewart's trial, I'm not going to be surprised."_

_"Well…" Joseph broke into an amused grin. "No, I didn't testify."_

_"Then what's got you so gun shy?" Winona asked in a softened tone, guiding Joseph to rest his head on her lap as they sat on her thrift store sofa in her one-bedroom apartment. Gently her fingers dragged through his hair._

_"What if I told you that I heard a prophetic voice? Would you think I'm crazy?"_

_"My ancestors had a deity whose sole purpose was talking to people, Joseph." Winona's voice was patient, her stomach doing a flip when those impossibly blue eyes of his looked up at her. "…humans as a species have a history of doing that."_

_"If I tell you about what I've experienced… I guess I have to start with my father." Joseph murmured, then closed his eyes. "You told me you loved your father dearly before he passed."_

_"I did and I do. Not everyone's so lucky." Winona's tone was understanding and gently a hand rested over Joseph's heart. His own calloused palm rested over hers and his eyes opened again._

_"Everyone thought that my father was crazy. Old Mad Seed is what they called him." He began to detail a life devoid of love. A broken home with a ghost of a mother and a beast of a father. Joseph explained, in a detached and drained sort of detail, that his father seemed to think he was the sole salvation for his three sons to keep their souls from hell. Winona kept quiet… she sincerely wasn't sure what to say._

_"One day, my father discovered me reading a Spider-Man comic book." Joseph rolled his shoulder as he talked about it, as though nonchalance made it easier to discuss. "He beat me viciously for it, but it was at that time that I heard the Voice. I could tell that it wasn't a hallucination or my imagination, the same way that I can tell that I'm really here in your apartment with you."_

_"Do you mean the Voice of God?" Winona asked simply, rather than giving any kind of comment to indicate an opinion or judgement._

_"Yes. The Voice of the Creator, whatever denominational word you want to give that being." Joseph answered as he sat up to sit beside Winona properly. "I was seven years old when I heard the Voice of God and He told me about the end of the world as we know it."_

_"So you sincerely think that the world is going to end?" Winona looked at Joseph skeptically and he knew that look from others, was about to say something to backpedal or defend his views, when Winona reached out suddenly and took hold of his hand. "I'm not saying that I do or don't believe you, Joseph. I just want to know what_ you _think of all of this."_

 _"I sincerely_ know _that the world is going to end." He sighed, looking at the muted little television. "The scientists are already saying the same thing, that the environment is changing too rapidly to sustain human life. The politicians are already refusing to change, throwing the world into one war after another after another. Winona, with us as a species heading down this path, taking any sort of religious or supernatural element out of the conversation… how can you see anything but the destruction of our world?"_

_Winona was quiet at first, looking away and thinking over his words. "I have to think about it… I agree with you. But I should honestly think on it."_

_"Do you have any other questions?"_

_"What about your brothers?" Winona looked to him again and softened as he leaned into her. She had given him an honest answer and he had accepted it as such. There was no judgement between them. "Where are they now?"_

_"I don't know." Joseph's voice was soft, sorrowful at that. "…we were taken from my parents not long after that day. We went into a foster home together that turned out to be a nightmare all on its own. We tried to defend ourselves, but in the end we were punished for doing so. They just filtered us through the American foster system separately. I have no idea where they are."_

_"I'm sorry, Joseph. What happened to you shouldn't have happened_ — _"_

_"Don't say that." Joseph interrupted her suddenly and Winona paused, looking at him uncertainly because she didn't understand what he meant. "…everything that's happened to me has lead me through life to this point. No one else was equipped to experience my life the way that I have, just like no one else has been equipped to experience your life for you. And despite it all, here we are."_

_"Here we are." Winona leaned down and stole a kiss, a gentle and reassuring one as a surge of protectiveness washed over her._

—

“I've changed my name, Deputy.” Faith answered calmly, looking up at Locklear with patient hazel eyes. “Please call me Faith. I prefer it.”

“…sorry about the hardass entrance, then.” Deputy Locklear sighed, resetting the hammer on her gun and holstering it before she pulled off her sunglasses and closed the door behind her. “But I do need to talk to you. Not that it was easy to get in here.”

“Jessop Conservatory has security for a reason, Winona.” Faith answered with a pleasant smile. Again, she was dressed in her Sunday Best, wearing a muted white dress that was plain except for the short sleeves and shoulders made entirely of white lace.  “I'm sure you can understand the Father's discretion, given that the Collapse is upon us. Did he ever discuss the Collapse with you?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Winona raised a hand to stop them both before they got started. “We're going to take turns properly. If I answer this question, you're going to answer one of mine and so on.”

“That's reasonable.” Faith answered, rising from her seat to go over to her little mini bar to make Winona a drink. Mini-bar was the best way to describe the cabinet, but instead of being filled with liquor, it was filled with teas, some snacks, and an assortment of non-alcoholic drinks. She poured the Deputy a glass of water and added a couple of ice cubes from a lidded tub atop the cabinet.

Locklear accepted the water and took a sip before she answered the question, “Joseph only had a vague idea of what the Collapse was when he met me. He hadn't had a real vision since he about ten.”

“So the Book is truthful on that.” Faith sighed softly, walking over to her desk and taking a seat.

“The Book of Joseph is the most truthful because it neglects details instead of making them up.” Deputy Locklear answered with a small frown. “I've already read the copy confiscated at the station.”

“It's good to know that you're versed in the primary literature for the Project at Eden's Gate.” Faith smiled softly, looking relieved. “What’s your question for me?”

“How did Joseph get here? The book isn’t clear on how he got so many people to follow him.” Locklear huffed, folding her arms.

“Well… the way the story goes as it was told to me,” Faith said in measures words. “…after he lost you and your daughter, he was walking home from work and was mugged when he had another vision. A clear one of the circumstances of how and when the Collapse would happen.”

“And once he had that vision, it all fell into place?” The Deputy scoffed.

“Yes. That’s two questions.” Faith had a smile like sunshine; potentially fatal but bright. “Now I get two.”

“Shit. Okay.” Locklear picked up her glass and had another sip, then relaxed onto the chair, throwing an arm over the back. Faith gave a clinical once-over with her eyes.

“You’re his type.” She smiles with teeth like a predator catching the scent of blood in the water.

“Which one?” Locklear didn’t shy from the smile. “Make it three questions.”

“Which one indeed. Was your first thought Joseph, John, or Jacob?” Faith asked, tilting her head slightly. Winona’s mouth pressed into a thin line briefly.

“Joseph. Then John. Jacob isn’t interested in me.”

Faith quirked an eyebrow. “So you think. But you admit that you're aware that more than one of them is attracted to you.”

“I don't really understand _why—_ not that I'm knocking my rugged good looks.” Locklear rolled her eyes at herself. “John didn’t know who I was when he was making eyes at me, and Joseph… we're the reason Facebook invented the ‘it’s complicated’ option, okay?”

“Alright, but you think that Jacob isn't attracted to you. Why's that?”

“Because he's Joseph's older brother and if anyone knows the whole story besides Joseph and me, it's him.” She leaned back in her seat as she finished her water. “I mean, they're _both_ his brother and last I checked, most people don't really think _sharing_ is an option. But that's all a moot point. I'm Joseph's _ex-wife_ , Faith. Most groups like you guys frown on divorce, not to mention that I muddle the martyr narrative for him completely and I _arrested_ him to kick off all of this shit—”

“Our purpose would remain unfulfilled if you hadn't opened the seal to begin the Reaping.” Faith's voice was patient, and even warm and kind. Locklear would go so far as to interpret it as _thankful_ , even. “Everything has lead us to this point, including you, Winona.”

“Stop.” Winona rose from her seat sharply. “Don't tell me that kind of shit. Don't tell me that my life brought me here for a reason or any of that fate crap. Don't talk like him, because you're _not_ him, even if you act like his proxy all the time. I came here because I wanted a _real_ conversation, and I thought you wouldn't shovel me bullshit and would be forward and honest with me.”

“I happen to agree with him on that front.” Faith sighed softly. “I don't believe that it's as cut and dry as whether or not a person believes Joseph Seed or they don't. You can _choose_ to believe the weatherman, or you can try braving outside and making a forecast for yourself. That doesn't change that he's learned what to look for, knows what the facts, the statistics, the data… he can see what it all points to because that's his job.”

“Joseph, what's the weather look like?” Locklear popped on her aviators, and did her most solemn voice. “My children, it's cloudy with a chance of brimstone. Into the bunker, now.”

Faith snorted, and it was like a crack had been put through a mask. An actress had broke character. Faith looked up at Locklear and sighed softly. “…I have another question.”

“Yeah.” The deputy reclaimed her chair and geared up for something very personal and dramatic about whether or not she loved Joseph still, or maybe a question about what he was like in bed. The word 'intense' was poised on Winona's tongue.

“…how did your daughter die?”

Locklear paused, looking to Faith uncertainly with such alarm the record scratch in her head was almost audible. She swallowed, closed her mouth, and looked down at her gloved hands. She was quiet for a long pause, a part of her wondering if Faith would ask again, but she never did. Finally, Winona answered her. “…the shorthand answer is heart failure.”

“Not respiratory?”

Locklear's gaze snapped up, brow furrowed-- she could only put on a stern scowl to control the feelings warring in her. This felt invasive and calculated. “No, her heart wasn't fully… it wasn't strong enough yet.”

Faith slowly rose from her seat, and reached out to rest a hand on Winona's shoulder, voice soft. “You've… you've never actually coped with your daughter's passing, have you?”

“Is that how you get people to do what you want?” Winona looked to Faith, dark brown eyes unyielding as she regarded the young woman before her. “You find what hurts and you assign your own pain to it, to garner their empathy. And then they're emotionally invested, and you have what you want.”

“I…” Faith took a deep breath, not expecting to be called out so abruptly just when she thought she was making progress.

“You can't convert me if I already believe the gospel, Faith. I've always believed Joseph. I've always known he was right about the Collapse.” Winona couldn't help a bitter laugh. “The irony is that, I _do_ believe him and it's the _personal_ shit between us that keeps me from joining him. If you've got a couples counseling license in your portfolio beside the chemistry degrees and drug trafficking wrap sheet, I'm all ears.”

Faith didn't answer her immediately, learning in just those few sentences that this was going to be more of a challenge than she previously thought. “Alright. You wanted me to be forward and honest with you. Trying to convert you _was_ my goal with this conversation. What was _your_ goal with this conversation?”

“I want to know what Joseph's told people about me and whether or not he's told _everyone_ in Eden's Gate that I'm dead.” Winona scowled disapprovingly at the thought that Joseph would've rather told people that she was dead than face the fact their marriage had fallen apart after Haseya. Faith was already shaking her head.

“No one outside of the immediate family knows about you, or at least no one _should_. The Father has always been incredibly guarded when it comes to you, but I’ve never heard him say that you died.” Faith explained, rising from her seat and pouring them each another glass. “But I'm sure those that pay attention are starting to ask questions about you, considering…”

She trailed off, she _hesitated_ , and Locklear narrowed her eyes. “Considering _what_ , Faith?”

“Considering the fact that they just witnessed the Father get arrested by a woman he has a tattoo of on his arm.” Faith looked to the deputy as though that answer should've been obvious, and really, it _should_ have. Locklear _was_ the woman in question, she'd had been _right_ in front of Joseph, had ample time to give him a look over and actually assess all the new ink she saw. But she hadn't. She'd slapped the cuffs on him out of spite and tugged him out of the church.

“Oh.” She said simply, taking her water and having a sip. “I didn't even notice. I was busy… just doing my job.”

“You arrested him after he said something to you.” Faith pointed out and Locklear wanted to curse. After all of the chaos and the crash, she'd sincerely forgotten that Faith, John, and Jacob had also witnessed the arrest. “I couldn't hear him. What did he say?”

“When I walked out ten years ago, I told him…” Winona looked up at the ceiling with a soft sigh. “I said, 'Sometimes the best thing to do is to walk away.' And then I left him. Served him divorce papers about a year later.”

Faith winced, then looked down at her hands, then looked up and gave the most honest answer she'd given yet. “Sometimes the melodrama doesn't really help, does it?”

They were both quiet for a moment and then a smile was shared between them, followed by a laugh. Locklear's shoulders visibly relaxed. She sighed softly once she was done. “I have another question.”

“Ask me anything, Deputy.”

“Do you know a local named Dutch?” Locklear pulled out her notepad and read off the information she'd gotten at the station before she took the winding road up to Jessop Observatory. “He's had some run-ins with the law over water rights, but other than being a prepper of some kind, I can't find anything about him dealing with Eden's Gate.”

“He's got a niece we've bumped heads with, from what I'm told.” Faith answers patiently, rolling her shoulder. “It all took place before you arrived, and it was up in the Whitetail Mountains. Jacob's region.”

Locklear didn't like the answer simply because it left her with more questions. “He 'rescued' me. Which I say with that tone because I'm not certain I _needed_ rescuing.”

“I see. He's always been as vocal, as are others, against Eden's Gate so I've never really thought anything about it.” Faith admitted, then rose to her feet when one of her subordinates came in, blood still dripping down his face from his broken nose.

“Faith,” He began, then paused when he found Deputy Locklear sitting down in Faith's office like she'd been invited there. To his credit, he persisted. “The Deputy… she broke through the gate, we've got 12 men injured.”

“I'm… sorry?” Locklear rose to her feet and turned around to face him. “I didn't use a gun, at least.”

“You put _an arrow_ through Alan's hand when he tried to sound the alarm.” The young man scowled, poised to step forward. Locklear tilted her head up as though _daring_ him to come forward and try to start a fight with her. Faith intercepted quickly and stepped between them.

“Thank you, Robby. The deputy is going to atone for her sins when she arrives at John's compound.” Faith assured him, guiding him back to the door. “For now, she is my guest. Please see that those men are treated.”

The young man left with another glare in Locklear's direction. The deputy couldn't help but scoff at him.

“Some of the people who are a part of the Project have never had anything to belong to, anything to defend.” Faith explained as she closed her office door then turned to face Locklear again. “You know how heady it can feel to belong to something, to a group that treats you like family when you've been so long without a family of any kind.”

“Something tells me that you can too.” Winona sighed. “Are you really going to have me go to John's compound? He's a little wound tight right now, I'm sure.”

The door opened and the young man slipped back inside slowly.

“Look, Robby, I'm sorry I beat up—” Locklear began, then paused when she saw a gun was pointed right at the young man's head. Immediately, her gloved hands went up and she exhaled slowly when United States Federal Fucking Marshal Cameron Burke came into the room behind Robby, his impromptu hostage.

“Been lookin' everywhere for ya, rook.” Burke sighed roughly, scowling at her. “Managed to make my way back to Sheriff Whitehorse on my own.”

“Marshal, put the gun down…” Locklear looked between Robby and Burke. She trusted Burke to be an asshole and Robby to be an idiot. “There's no need for it here. Faith will let us go.”

“You mean _Rachel Jessop_ , the woman responsible for half of Hope County being out of their minds on psychoactive drugs?” Burke reminded Locklear, a cold gaze making it abundantly clear what he was thinking to her. _You have a job to do. These people are criminals._

“We could have a colorful debate about the merits and pitfalls of the Bliss at another time, Marshal.” Faith said carefully, her own hands raising carefully to show she wasn't planning anything. “If you want to point that weapon anywhere—”

“Don't start thinking you can manipulate this situation.” Burke growled and pointed the gun at Faith instead. Robby visibly flinched, and moved to struggle before the gun was replaced against his head, making him still once more. “The deputy and I are gettin' the hell outta here.”

“Leave the kid alone, Burke.” Locklear said sternly, taking a step forward. “We’re leaving together. Just us.”

“No, you’re arresting Rachel Jessop.” Burke said sternly, pointing  the gun at Faith once again. The kid, Robby, snapped and wrestled Burke around to point the gun away from Faith, refusing to remain still while she was in danger. Faith ducked back to get away from the fight while Locklear stepped forward to interrupt it.

The struggle was a quick one, Locklear launching forward to grab Burke by his tactical vest, tugging—

**BANG.**

The gun went off and the kid stopped moving. Faith gasped, grabbed something out of her desk, and Locklear heard the sound of something whizz past her head before Burke was suddenly yanking her up to her feet and all but dragging her out of the office. Locklear struggled to pry her wrist free as the alarms sounded. “Cut it out and get in the car!”

She planned to get Burke out and would stay back. That was the plan. Her hands found the straps of his vest and she shoved him roughly over to the car. The guards that weren’t already injured by Locklear were now scrambling around and opening fire. A woman’s voice rang out, but Locklear could tell it wasn’t Faith.

“Hold your fire! She said bliss bullets only!”

“Get in, rookie!” Burke shouted, tugging Locklear into the truck by her own vest before she could protest, door swinging shut as he peeled out on the gravel road. More engines began revving from the other side of the property, and soon enough they were being chased by a couple of Peggies on ATVs.

“Burke…! God damn it, I didn’t need your help!” She was livid, tugging out a slingshot from her cargo pocket on her vest and her collection of pellets. Her compound bow and rifle were in her truck, out of reach.

“A _slingshot_? Are you _kidding_ me?! _Shoot_ them!!” The Marshal roared, earning another roll of Locklear’s eyes before she sat herself on he truck windowsill on the passenger door, leaning out the open window. If Locklear hadn’t had her ballcap tucked through her bun, it probably would’ve flown off. She set the pellet into the sling then drew back, lining up the shot.

“SORRY!” She shouted over the wind best as she could before releasing the shot, which flew right into the forehead of one of the ATV drivers and he was immediately unconscious, tumbling from the bike and onto the pavement. His passenger lifted her rifle while the ATV still had its momentum going and pulled the trigger. Winona felt the sharp sting of something in her side. “Augh! Ow…”

Locklear's ability to hear suddenly plummeted, as though her ears were listening to the world around her from the bottom of a rock quarry. Flares, soft and floating like dandelion seeds in the wind, began to dance across her vision and the rest of the world began to take on a surreal, twisted echo of its former self. Dazedly, she looked down at the slingshot in her hand, then dropped it to the floor because of the pins and needles sensations going through her fingertips.

She knew she was going to pass out before it actually happened. Locklear slumped back, still hanging out of the truck window, as the corners of her vision began to stain white. Burke cursed from inside the truck and Locklear felt him grab her by one of the straps on her holster to keep her in the truck. With both hands, Burke yanked the deputy back into the cab of the truck.

Vaguely, Locklear worried that the Marshal was going to lose his control of the vehicle, then the skid of the tires told her that he already had. The tree was visible even through the pure white fairy dust haze that the Bliss was giving Locklear. The impact was going to hurt or at least it was supposed to. When the truck finally slammed into the tree along the side of the road, the dashboard seemed to come up to meet Locklear as she managed to turn her head away, tucking into the impact. The bliss wrapped itself around her mind like a soft blanket of white, and unconsciousness drew Locklear down.

—

Honeysuckle incense, the sound of soft bells in the distance as lily of the valley grows wild through the green grass. It’s a cozy warmth that happens in spring. There’s the softest sound of the river nearby, and soon Winona’s boots are treading slowly over the grass as she looks around dazedly.

“Where am I?” She asked, confused by the echo she heard as she spoke. A soft laugh sounded from nearby before Faith came up from behind Winona as though she had been there all along.

“Welcome to the Bliss.” Faith greeted with a soft smile. “We were so worried about you.”

“Who’s we? What happened?” Winona grew silent as Faith reached out and gently took her hands, guiding her down to sit in the grass.

“You were concussed in an accident. My people were in pursuit and you were with Marshal Burke. You’re both safe now in my bunker.” It was the most honesty that Faith had yet given Winona. The deputy wondered vaguely if it would last.

“This doesn’t look like your bunker.” Winona laughed softly, taking in the beautiful, downright heavenly fields around them with a kiss of bliss bushes and trees scattered around.

“Everyone sees things differently in the Bliss.” Faith explained softly. She was dressed in casual clothing for the first time since Winona had met her. She was barefoot, wearing washed out jeans cuffed up a few inches in a fashionably casual way and a plain white tee shirt that hung on her body comfortably.

“I see you in something besides fancy clothes. Not that the Valentino dress earlier wasn’t hashtag goals.”

Faith laughed like a cherub. “You sound like an old person trying to sound young when you say things like that. You’re going to be recovering for a while. It’s a good time for us to talk honestly again.”

“You weren’t going to trust me so long as I was armed after I pointed a gun in your face,” Winona began, which earned a nod from Faith. “And I wasn’t going to trust you so long as I thought you weren’t willing to do anything with your own agency.”

“You wanted me to be a real person.” Faith said, earning a nod from Winona as they sat in the grass. “And in reality, I chose to help Joseph because he helped me get clean and I wanted desperately to belong to something. In reality, being Faith Seed is more of a title or position rather than a person.”

“Then why did you go through with becoming Faith?”

“Because I didn’t know _who_ I was. I had spent so long having my addiction be my identity…” Faith’s exhaled our slowly, and it was clear by the mix of sorrow, awe, and bewilderment that she had on her face that she’d never realized it was that simple of an explanation.

“And what about now?” Winona asked softly, reaching down and carefully plucking out a sprig of Lily of the Valley and offering it to Faith.

“Now I’ve made Faith into more than just a title for someone to fill. I’ve found myself as a person and Faith just so happens to suit me well as a name.” Faith answered with a smile. “It’s my armor when I feel weak, my warmth when I feel cold.”

“Do you need armor often?” Winona wondered aloud, watching as Faith’s expression grew somber.

“For the longest time, yes. I was terrified of everything and everyone. I was afraid that Joseph would replace me with another Faith. I was afraid that John and Jacob would be cruel and impossible to endure.”

“What changed?” Winona asked as she watched Faith begin the meticulous task of weaving together bliss flowers into a flower crown.

“How I viewed Joseph. For the longest time, he was the sun and the moon, and all my value was placed on his opinions. But then you showed up.” Faith looked to her with a smile. “And suddenly, the Father was just a man again.”

“What was he to you before that?” The deputy’s voice and expression was one of sincere concern.

“It’s difficult to explain how the people in Eden’s Gate see the Father. To those who haven’t been helped by him, by us, it seems like just mindless following. What it is in reality is a man who sees each of us is worth saving, worth helping to better themselves.”

“Pretty sure I’m the exception to the rule, then.” Winona chuckled, only to have the laughter die in her throat when Joseph’s voice greeted her.

“You’re exceptional, and you are not worthless to me.”

Winona rose to her feet, looking up at Joseph. He was just standing there out of nowhere like she simply hadn’t noticed him yet, in his worn Levis and empty holster, watching Winona as though resisting every urge to step closer. Winona instead closed the gap herself, pulling Joseph to herself by his arm, which she looked down at in order to see what the tattoo of herself looked like.

“Your favorite picture.” She noted, remembering the photograph he had kept tucked between the pages of the worn bible he had with him always. The difference between the two was that the picture had been at a fair and the tattoo had Winona’s likeness surrounded by Bliss flowers. “Why did you get this?”

Joseph looked down and the photograph in question was suddenly in his hand. It had been ripped in half, taped back into place, and had worn water damage. “After you left, I thought it was important to have a more permanent reminder.”

“Joseph…” Winona felt an aching emptiness in her chest, as though all the warmth in her had been sapped and she was left with an overwhelming sense of emptiness. “When I left—”

“We don’t need to discuss that at length right now.” Joseph explained, reaching out and taking one of Winona’s hands in his own. “I have had another vision. And it’s for you. Watch for a wolf in the mist, she has hunted you since you arrived here. You must see the worst of my flock before you can become one of us.”

Winona blinked a couple of times in bewilderment— what the hell did that mean? “Okay…”

“Rest, Winona.” Faith soothed as the world around Winona began to blur and lighten into peaceful unconsciousness.

—

“What did you mean by the wolf? Have you really seen something, Joseph?” Faith asked uncertainly, seated beside the bed Winona was recovering in. The deputy’s hair was down over her shoulders and she looked exhausted but healthy. She would be out of the Bliss when she woke properly and her eyes were clear.

Joseph hung his head briefly; he was _not_ actually walking around shirtless, actually wearing a white button down shirt under a quilted black vest, his expression resigned. “I have. An old friend is the one who brought her here. I used him and the only thing he knows how to do in return is to use others.”

“Jacob and John both have said we do not have time to wait for her to realize what she needs to do.” Faith noted and earned a soft sigh from Joseph, the worry lining his face.

“She will do what she must. There are things that we have done that we have deemed necessary that she will not forgive, even in the face of our annihilation. She is my judge, Faith, above all except God.” He took the seat that Faith had vacated, and folded his fingers to pray beside Winona’s sleeping form.

“You are the Father. If she can judge you, she can judge all of us. I trust her mercy. Do you?” Faith asked in a measured tone before she finally turned and left Joseph to watch over Winona as she slept. Winona stirred silently, relaxing once again when Joseph’s hand found hers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But still you stumble, feet give way…_   
>  _Outside the world seems a violent place,_   
>  _But you had to have him, and so you did._   
>  _Some things you let go in order to live,_   
>  _While all around you, the buildings sway._   
>  _You sing it out loud, "who made us this way?"_   
>  _I know you're bleeding, but you'll be okay._   
>  _Hold on to your heart, you'll keep it safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going down to the river in this one! Thank you so much for comments and feedback. <3

_The verdant forest around them had the lush, earthy scent of soil and dried pine needles. There was the rhythmic soft crunch of the needles underfoot along the hiking trail; Winona rarely got to hike as a child, following her father’s death. Her olive green and orange hiking shoes took her climbing over a tree trunk after the two taller figures ahead of her; she was only eight. They outpaced her. “Gramma! Mommy! Wait!”_   

_“Winona,” Her mother sighed and continued walking. “You need to be more careful. You have responsibilities now.”_  

_“No, I don’t…” Winona realized her voice sounded like an adult’s voice before she looked down at herself and saw that she was in fact 31 and not 8 anymore, as she had been on the trip to California to the Redwood National Park._  

_“Mom, I don’t have anything but a job.” Winona pressed and continued following her mother and grandmother down the trail._  

_“You know that isn’t true.” Grandmother Haseya replied with a chuckle. “You soothe troubled minds and broken hearts. You always have.”_  

_“And that’s done nothing but make me miserable.” Winona grumbled looking around bewilderedly as a couple of low hanging branches began to burst into flame. Winona recoiled, feeling the innate fear she’d had as a child when she had figured out that fire was what killed her father._  

_Another look around and the entirety of the forest was on fire, smoke and ash swirling around Winona as she tried desperately to gain her bearings. There was a sudden flash of light, blinding and white, before Winona dared to look up and saw the mushroom cloud in the distance. Over the blasting of the wind, clearer than any other sounds, Winona could hear her grandmother’s voice._  

_“You have the power to heal your pain, and the pain of others. But it must start with you. You must embrace yourself. You must_ forgive _yourself… before it’s too late.”_  

_Winona felt the gust of the air around her begin to pull forward— the blast wave from the detonation was now upon her. The burning, searing screams of pain happened because they were expected to, not because Winona actually felt them. She didn’t feel any pain, only—_  

“AAAAUGH!” Winona thrashed awake screaming, looking around the little bedroom she was in with wide brown eyes filled with instinctive panic, panting softly. The door opened abruptly and a woman stepped inside, a rifle on a strap over her shoulder, the ends of her hair dyed red. 

“Are you alright, Deputy?” She asked with sincere concern, in that important way that someone does when they’ve been tasked with a responsibility. 

“I want Faith,” Winona hiccuped, mouth feeling cottony with how long she’d been unconscious. “Please.” 

“On it.” The woman left and closed the door behind her, leaving Winona in silence.  

Winona exhaled shakily, looking down at herself. She looked alright, a few bruises here and there but it appeared that she had no broken bones. She was in a pair of soft pajama pants and a tee shirt rather than a hospital gown, so Winona knew she wasn’t in too dire a condition. Her joints groaned when she rose, but she got up and wheeled the IV drip along with her to gain her bearings.  

On the far wall of Locklear’s little recovery room there was a painting of the Seed family together. Winona had seen a couple of paintings similar to this, but the clothing and poses were completely different in this one. Winona carefully took the painting down from the wall and held it to get a better look. 

Joseph sat in the middle, taking on a perfect patriarch position, his leather and wood rosary wrapped around the hand resting over his heart. His other hand rested on his knee while he sat there in perfect posture. Winona snorted to herself—it was utterly innacurate. She'd seen Joseph many evenings sat at the kitchen table stressing about one thing or another, hunched with terrible posture until he had to straighten back up and make his spine crack for relief. But he was dressed nicely in the painting, wearing a tailored gray suit with a bolo tie.  

Faith was seated to Joseph's right, a bouquet of bliss flowers in her arms, smiling serenely with her hair falling in thick waves over her shoulders. Again she wore white; in this case, an a-line dress in a very pale pastel teal beneath white lace. Her legs were crossed at the ankle in a proper, ladylike manner, her chair slightly turned away from Joseph’s so that she could do so without knocking knees with the Father.  

John was standing behind Faith, to Joseph's right just as Faith was. He held in his hand a white leather-bound copy of the Word of Joseph. This didn't surprise Winona, since she now understood John's whole purpose in the Project at Eden's Gate was to baptize the newly converted and root out the untruthful. He wore a tailored navy suit, with a narrow navy tie. The cut and accents still had that southern, cowboy feel to them. With how much money Locklear now knew he was raised around, she wondered if he’d ever spent time on a  _real_  ranch. 

On Joseph's left, standing with a weapon relaxed in his arm at parade rest was Jacob. His black suit was also made to fit, and in Jacob’s stone-faced way, it suited him the way all-black had always suited Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan. Winona had only ever seen him in non-formal clothing. Something tailored just proved the man was huge under the slouched shoulders and furrowed brow, and it made Winona wonder what Jacob must have been like before he enlisted. 

“You look so much better.” Faith sounded relieved, hurrying into the room and drawing Winona into a hug. Winona hugged her back with one arm, letting her go to put the painting back. 

“I feel better, but I kind of want to avoid another vehicular accident.  Been in two in as many weeks, if I’ve been out long.” Winona sighed, looking to Faith curiously. “Where’s my stuff?” 

“It’s safe, I had it all packed up for you for your trip.” Faith smiled serenely. “It was suggested that you walk the pilgrimage as penance for the men you hurt getting to me, but it was decided you should reach Atonement with John first.” 

“Oh,  _come on_. I didn’t kill anyone…” Winona sighed softly like a child told to eat her vegetables. 

“Our flock understands that they are in life-or-death situations in the face of the collapse.” Faith answered with a calming hand on Winona’s forearm, guiding her to sit down on the bed so that Faith could begin the careful task of removing her IV. “They expect the worse and act like they expect the worse. Perhaps they have been too quick to judge. Perhaps they need someone else to pass judgement for them.” 

“Please. I don’t have any room to judge any—ah!” Winona gritted her teeth, resting her hand over the gauze that Faith placed over the injection site as she’d removed the IV. “I hate how that feels.” 

“You don’t  _yet_.” Faith looked up at Winona, smiling warmly, even as she skillfully wrapped the gauze with bandaging to keep it in place. “I feel like we should’ve had you here with us all along. I need to remind you of something.” 

“What…?” Winona frowned slightly, blinking a few times bewilderedly as Faith walked her out of her recovery room and down a bunker corridor to the communal showers. This wasn’t anything new to Winona— she stripped out of the pajamas and started one of the showers without being prompted. 

“Joseph has had a vision about you.” 

“Watch for a wolf in the mist, she has hunted you since you arrived here.” Locklear repeated, catching a bar of soap from Faith as it was tossed to her and began scrubbing down with it. “So whoever she is, she’s someone who waited for me to show up.” 

“Also— you must see the worst of my flock before you can become one of us. That was the other part.” Faith exhaled softly, apprehension in her eyes. “You are going to need John as much as he needs you.” 

“What on earth could he need from me…?” Winona wondered, but the dream was fresh, and her grandmother’s voice echoed in her head again. 

_“You have the power to heal your pain, and the pain of others.”_  

“Well… I suppose your main goal for your visit should be your Atonement.” Faith answered, turning away from the conversation to go to one of the supply lockers and pull out a towel, hanging it where Winona could take it once she was done showering. “This is the time to face your own demons, to see your sins for what they are and forgive yourself for falling to them.” 

“What?” Winona turned off the water and turned around to face Faith, long black hair falling over her shoulders, dripping on the floor. “What’d you just say?” 

“It’s a chance to ask for forgiveness on the things you’ve never thought you couldn’t be forgiven for. For the things you’ve never forgiven  _yourself_  for.” Faith smiled softly, looking up when the girl who had been watching Winona returned with a black duffel bag and handed it to Faith. She bowed her head to Winona in polite acknowledgment and then left. Faith opened the bag and pulled out some of Winona’s clothes, not her uniform.  

“Joseph went to your motel room and got you a change of clothes.” Faith explained as Winona turned off the shower and began toweling herself dry. Faith set down the clothes on a bench and Winona began dressing. Once she was done, she was in a pair of holey jeans so washed out they were white, and a soft white v-neck tee, and her boots— the one part of her outfit that had been salvaged besides her baseball cap. Winona tied her hair into a low ponytail and tugged the cap on. 

“You look terrific. I wish I could be there.” Faith looked ready to float away with the happiness in her eyes. Winona rested her hand on Faith’s shoulder to steady her.  

“Where is the Sheriff? Burke said he met up with Sheriff Whitehorse, who I thought was in your custody?” Locklear looked at Faith with a quirked eyebrow, who shrugged innocently. 

“I let him go.” She admitted finally with a shrug. “I thought it was important for you to have someone on your side and I understand you respect the Sheriff greatly.” 

Winona raised her eyebrows, surprised that it was something that Faith was willing to admit. Going against the commands of the Father wasn’t something lightly done. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me, Winona. The Sheriff trusts you as much as I do. We agree you’ll do the right thing.” Faith said it with such a belief in it (cause Locklear wasn’t going to make a fucking pun), that Winona was sincerely uncertain how to reply except to change the subject. 

“Let’s go say hi to John, I guess.” She shook her head, unable to ignore the gut feeling that this was going to be a lot more grueling than staying with Faith had been— she’d been unconscious for half the time, after all. 

— 

The clearing was tranquil in the late morning sun, which reflected off the water in the brook like gold flakes and flashes were dancing on the surface as fireflies do when the water is tranquil enough for it. Rows of seating comprised of hay bales covered in white linens framed the clearing overlooking the shore. Further up from the river was the landing, framed by a beautiful archway with hanging bliss flowers and vines. This was one of the secret, downright sacred places that John Seed performed baptisms personally. 

There were a few people walking around and preparing the scene quietly, like worker bees heading from tulip to tulip.  Those under John’s domain in the Holland Valley wore black. Occasionally some of Faith’s priestesses were present for a baptism, in their pale shades of mint and teal, while a couple of hunters from Jacob’s forces in the Whitetail Mountains wore red. They had additional security thanks to one of the guests coming to be baptized.  

The tranquility of the scene was interrupted by the rumbling of an engine before a white van pulled up along the side of the road and parked. Out popped a procession of people, all dressed in white, some of them with their wrists tied and others walking along in the line willingly. There were a couple of escorts not wearing white, but the typical muted shades of Eden’s Gate, accented with the colors of their chosen herald. 

The escorts, marked by black vests and black wraps as John’s men, lead the line under the archway and guided them all to line up on one side. Even the ones with their hands tied complied. 

But it was perfect. It  _had_  to be perfect. The deputy was finally in Holland Valley where she would be under John’s care and protection. He would baptize her to begin with, then have her confess her every sin— for clearly they had to be many to have wound up as a deputy rather than at Joseph’s side. Joseph, who was the most deserving. Joseph, who was the most blessed, the most  _lucky_  son of a— 

“Mister John.” Winona smiled, stepping out of the line and walking over to him. John stood there for a long moment, dressed in jeans and the blue shirt and ridiculous plane-patterned duster that he’d been in when she had tried to arrest Joseph. The vest was different, more precisely tailored to John’s frame. 

“Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life, Deputy.” He welcomed her with an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close. His hand on her shoulder was like a vice. “And welcome to our new brothers and sisters.” 

The people dressed in white all looked up at John and Winona dazedly but listened as John spoke. In truth, Winona couldn’t help but listen as well, partially because it was the only thing taking her mind off how badly he was hurting her shoulder with her grip. She gave up enduring finally and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

“We are gathered here today to welcome you all into the loving embrace of the Father, to begin the path of atonement so that you may walk with him through the gates to the new Eden.” John explained as he released Winona finally and strode forward to speak to the other new arrivals. “You’ll have to forgive a bit of theatricality, we’re still just setting up.” 

Winona looked over her shoulder at the ones still hurrying around, setting up power cords and spotlights and a few video cameras. Sharply she turned to look at John for an explanation. “Are you filming the baptism?” 

“No.” John chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, that’s a sacred moment for everyone involved. We’re just going to put together a little notice.” 

Locklear frowned slightly, folding her arms in disapproval as she walked back over to stand with the other folks dressed in white. John narrowed his eyes at the judgmental frown she had given him and walked over to her to murmur quietly. “You don’t approve of my methods, Deputy. But you cannot yet judge without being judged first yourself. And I know we will find you lacking soon enough.” 

“Only one lacking here is you, lacking a bit more prep for the big stick up your ass.” Winona huffed, looking away with a frown. A muscle tensed in John’s jaw before he turned away and muttered a command to one of his men. The man quickly hurried off on his mission and Winona groaned in disdain as John pulled her over to stand at a certain spot under the awning. 

“We’re ready.” One of the other faithful answered, giving John a thumbs up. “Sound on. Your  cue, John.” 

John turned to face the camera and took a breath then began speaking. “We are all sinners. Every one of us. You, me… even the Father knows  _deeply_  of sin. It’s a poison that clouds our minds.” 

John walked along the line of people dressed in white and rested his hand on one person’s shoulder then moved on to the next for each question he asked. “What if I told you, you could be free from sin? What if I told you that everything you ever dreamed could come true? What if I told you that everything could be overcome if you embraced an idea…?” 

John turned to face the camera again as he spoke. “That freedom from sin can come from the power of just one word.”  

John lifted his hands and the camera panned up to a lit up YES sign. The faithful around them shouted out “Yes!” enthusiastically and began cheering. Those present to be baptized began to cheer as well awkwardly. One of Faith’s priestesses caught Locklear’s arm gently and guided her over to stand beside John. 

“Yes, I am a sinner. Yes, I wish to be unburdened.” John smirked as he stole a glance at Winona, moving to drape an arm about her shoulders . “Yes, I must be redeemed. If you’re watching this, know that you have been selected. You will be cleansed, you will confess your sins, and you will be offered Atonement.” 

Locklear’s stomach coiled with the concern over what the people watching this would think, seeing one of the deputies decked out in white waiting to be baptized; she lowered her eyes and moved to pull away. John’s grip remained firm. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything. We’ll come for you. Welcome to Eden’s Gate.” 

The man behind one of the cameras gave the thumbs up and the others applauded now that it was safe to. Again, Winona had to elbow John to get free of him, turning around to face him with a scowl. “You didn’t  _ask_  me if I wanted to be in some public service announcement.” 

“I didn't need to. You're on property belonging to the Project, to the Father.” John smirked, looking to Winona thoughtfully. “Besides, you're in for a great honor. With the Reaping under way, being baptized by John Seed is a  _rare_  occurrence, almost as rare as a baptism by the Father himself.” 

John's men hopped to without his prompting, guiding the sinners in their baptism clothes to head down the trail to the riverside for the ceremony. John remained where he was, far too preoccupied with staring Locklear down. She glared right back at him, hands balling into fists.  

“Do you think that you've fooled everyone?” He murmured to her so that no one around them could hear. “You haven't fooled me.” 

“Show mercy toward those who have doubts.” Winona drawled, looking up at him like she found his little tough act unimpressive. Immediately John bristled in reaction, catching her around the throat. Her response was instantaneous; Locklear flexed and curved her fist up into his chin so hard that the clack of his teeth slamming together was deafening.

The faithful gathered around them all stopped in their tracks to watch as John stumbled back from Winona clutching his mouth. Winona straightened back up and added, “Save others by snatching them from the fire.” 

John raised his eyebrows, straightening back up and wiping his mouth on his hand to check if he was bleeding. He wasn't, luckily. “Jude, 1:22... I didn't think you knew scripture, Deputy.” 

“It's important to understand what people cling to when things are dire.” Locklear grumbled, folding her arms. She remembered times when she was an officer and leading people through prayers had kept them going, be it through a testimony for police records or one on the witness stand. Some people found faith to be enough to keep them going. Winona never considered herself one of them. 

“Are you going to just  _stand_  there or do I have to carry you,  _Deputy_?” John over-annunciated each syllable for effect, which made Locklear roll her eyes and move to walk past him. John turned on his heel and fell into step beside Winona as they walked the path down to the river. 

“I understand why you doubt me, John. I can't fault you for being protective of your brother.” She began, looking to John as the morning sun shone down on them both. He sighed, dropping his sunglasses down off the top of his head to shield his eyes. 

“If this is your misguided attempt to try and  _bond_  with me, Deputy Locklear, it's not going to work.” John shot her a glare. “Did you think you could hunt down your ex-husband, my brother, for some kind of  _payout_  here?” 

The accusation was so utterly ridiculous to her that when she heard it, Winona couldn't even muster the anger to be offended. Instead, she burst into laughter and stopped in her tracks, looking at him bemusedly while taking off her aviators. “Oh, my God. You really believe that's why I'm here, don't you?  _Sincerely_?” 

She started walking again only for those inked, steel-boned fingers to wrap around her arm and draw her back. He spoke lowly. “Whatever your motivations are, I'll know them when you confess. Save your words for then.” 

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the clearing, the sinners in white all seated along the hay bales as a few of the smaller barrels of liquid bliss were poured into the water, causing the fog to roll over the water in soft swirls and wisps.  John walked over to the pulpit set up with a Book of Joseph already waiting with a few notes sticking out from between the pages. John smiled sweetly at the sinners before him. 

“Brothers and sisters,” He greeted as he shrugged off the long duster, hanging it over the back of a chair beside the pulpit. “We are gathered here to bear witness to the beginning of your path. Your path to freedom, your path to forgiveness, your path to Eden.” 

One of his men then strode forward to guide one of the sinners over to John. John walked around the pulpit and took the sinner's shoulder in his hand and guided her over to the water. “We bring you forth to this river so that you may be washed of your past transgressions, and begin your lives again anew.” 

He carefully took up the task of cuffing up his sleeves before reclaiming her shoulders and guiding the sinner into the water. An inked hand moved to rest on her back, between her shoulders. Still, John spoke clearly, projecting so that everyone present could hear him. “Let the water soak through you, and wash away your sins so that you may be worthy of the future which the Father has seen under God's guidance.” 

As he spoke, he guided one of the sinner's hands to plug her own nose with before placing his own hand on her sternum to guide her down. John in one smooth motion dipped her below the water and raised her to stand, baptized, and blissed.  And so it was, as he continued his sermon, that he dipped every single sinner, and every time, Winona was left standing on the shore, watching him.  

“We must wash away our past. We must expose our sins. We must atone… For only then may we stand in the light of God and walk through his gate unto Eden.” John had never looked more serene than when he spoke words he sincerely believed in, strong arms curved along the anxious muscles of the body he held as he dropped them in the water. He, who they had no doubt seen act so violently, so cruelly, who was now acting like his namesake, saintly and holy. 

Finally, Winona was the only sinner left, the others having been guided dripping wet and blissed out back up the path to the archway for towels, food, water, and then to be transported up to John's bunker. Winona had had the time to carefully unlace her boots, pulling them off along with her socks and tucking them beside one of the bales before cuffing up the ankles of her jeans. She also took off her hat and snapped the snapback of it around one of her belt loops. John paused, having been poised to put away the little bottle of anointing oil before he looked to Winona. 

“There's no one for you to pretend for, Deputy.” He said in a calm voice even as he folded his arms. 

“I'm not here to pretend, John.” Winona answered, unflinching in the face of his gaze in a way no one else in Hope County was— the faithful did not flinch because they knew his wrath was for the enemies of the Project, and his family did not flinch because they were his kin... Winona did not flinch because she sincerely was not afraid of him. “I came here to atone.” 

John looked alarmed for a millisecond by her words, watching like he wasn't sure how to move his joints as Winona stepped into the water and walked over to him. They stood there unmoving for what felt like an eon, gazing into each other's eyes, trying to determine who would break the silence first. John finally brought a hand up and cupped Winona's arm. This time his fingers were not in a vice, but were gentle, and he drew her closer. 

“Beloved of God,” He said in a voice that was downright  _reverent_ , Winona's eyes drifting closed at the flow of his breath with every word. She trusted, she allowed him to move her where he wanted her. “You stand in this river to receive the sacrament of baptism. Do you, Winona Locklear, renounce sin, so as to live in the grace of God?” 

“Yes.” Winona gave John the word he wanted, her own breath above a whisper as John's hand found the small of her back and pressed there to hold her and keep her where she stood in the water. She did not move.   
   
“Do you renounce the lure of evil, so that sin may have no master over you?” John questioned, his other hand moving to rest over her sternum, causing her heart to beat ever faster. 

“I do.” Locklear swore, opening her eyes to look up at John. A part of her felt like he needed to see her eyes to believe her, as the questions became more specific. 

“Do you believe in the Father, in his Word and the path he asks his flock to follow him on?” John demanded, through his teeth because he was keeping himself still again, keeping himself rigid to prevent himself from acting on an impulse. Winona exhaled shakily, leaning into John's support as she answered. 

“I do.” 

John pressed firmly on Winona's sternum and guided her into a drop, her hand flying up at the last moment and pinching her nostrils before she went under. He held her under the water for a moment longer than he had the others, but then his hand on her sternum moved to cup her neck as he lifted her from the water and into his arms. Bliss danced across Winona's vision, twinkling in the morning light in shades of gold and white, dazzling Winona's senses.  

“I baptize you in the name of God and the Father, so that you may walk through his gate unto Eden.” John spoke with the faintest waiver that dissipated when he allowed himself to pitch his voice lower as he took the anointing oil and crossed on her forehead.

Locklear opened her eyes to look up at him, and the disdain and hatred for her was not present. It had been replaced with a bewildered desire, an aching awe. Winona brought a hand up to cup John’s neck, while he dropped the little bottle of oil into the river in favor of wrapping both arms around her as she leaned in the rest of the way and pressed her lips to John's. 

It wasn't a particularly deep or sensual kiss, but retained a sense of passion and even a loving tenderness to it that John couldn't place the origin of. Just as quickly as it had happened, Winona broke it with a soft exhale and moved to rest her forehead to John's, the pair of them knee-deep in the water, soaking wet, with her hand held in his. 

“I told you that you have to love them, John. Perhaps now you understand.” Joseph said in that soothing voice from the shore. Winona looked up and there he was, wearing the same white button down and vest he'd worn to visit her in a few days prior while she had been recovering.  The deputy kept an arm around John because she sincerely wasn't sure if she was  _allowed_  to approach Joseph. He held out his hand, the one wrapped in the leather rosary cord, and Winona finally pulled away from John, keeping her other hand in his to tug him along over to his older brother. 

“It would be nice to talk to you when I'm not high.” Winona admitted with a pout, though she did find it so very easy to lean into Joseph’s touches; there was no guilt in the bliss. Joseph chuckled modestly, then drew her in to rest his forehead to hers. 

“You have set more into motion just by being here willingly.” Joseph explained in a soft voice, unbothered by the damp of Winona's clothes soaking into his own. “The Reaping will continue until it is ended by your hand, Winona. But it is not yet time.” 

“I don't see why it's not. You all seem to have your plans well in hand. You could hunker down now… maybe I'm not understanding.” She felt like her body was moving too slowly. John’s hand gently squeezed hers when Joseph elaborated by quoting Revelations. 

“And the books were opened, including the Book of Life. And the dead were judged according to what they had done, as recorded in the books.” Joseph replied with the same conviction he'd held in the church. Winona exhaled shakily as he held her, Joseph moving both of his arms to embrace her properly. As far as Winona could remember, she hadn’t hugged Joseph properly in years. She had sincerely missed it, that mournful ache in her chest returning. 

John murmured Locklear’s name— or at least she thought he had— opening her tearful eyes to look up at him. John acted the second their eyes met, reaching out and gently resting his hand on Joseph’s shoulder and murmuring to him quietly. Winona didn’t make the effort to try and eavesdrop. Soon enough, tattooed hands were drawing her away from Joseph, from her ex-husband, and ushering her up the path to the landing where the vehicles were. 

Winona leaned into John’s side, and he kept his arm around her to steady her. He released her only to wrap her in a large white towel he was handed by one of his subordinates, and again to guide her into the passenger seat of the sleek black car that Winona pulled over her first day on the job. John got in on the driver’s side and started the car.  

Bliss continued to swirl through Locklear’s senses as she turned her head to look at John. “I didn’t know who you were when I pulled you over.” 

“I know.” John answered simply, shifting gears and driving down the road, taking the turn that lead up to his bunker. The greens and browns and soft golds of the Hope County morning began to blur until Winona closed her eyes, just to rest them, and drifted off. 


	5. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Honey, I wanna break you._   
>  _I wanna throw you to the hounds._   
>  _Yeah, I gotta hurt you._   
>  _I gotta hear it from your mouth._   
>  _Boy, I wanna taste you._   
>  _I wanna skin you with my tongue._   
>  _I’m gonna kill you._   
>  _I’m gonna lay you in the ground._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has changed to explicit for smut. You get the Bunker Scene today, this will get very nsfw. Winona and John have poor coping mechanisms. CW: torture, consent to torture

The muffled screaming slowly pulled Winona out of her unconscious state, looking around at her surroundings blearily until her eyes focused and she could see Deputy Hudson tied into a desk chair with tape on her mouth. She was struggling against the restraints, screaming against the tape, and had bruises all over. Locklear struggled against her own restraints, heart hammering with fear, confusion, and anger. 

Immediately, Hudson stilled in her chair when the sound of a metal door creaking open and clanging shut greeted their ears. Winona looked up as John sauntered into the room, dropping a bowl of water and a sponge on the cart to Locklear’s left while whistling We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn. He next put down a tool box and began going through its contents on the workbench to Locklear’s right. He took a deep breath and turned around to face her. 

“My parents… were the first ones to teach me about the power of yes.”  John began and that statement alone made Winona’s stomach bottom out. She had read the Book of Joseph and had understood that John’s adoptive parents were downright psychotic in their treatment of him. 

“One night they took me into the kitchen and they threw me on the ground,” John continued telling his story as he took out a few pictures and began stapling them to the backboard of the workbench. Locklear paled when John next pulled out a perfectly filleted leathery cut of human skin which was marked with a crossed out tattoo of one of the seven sins and stapled that next to the pictures. “And I experienced pain after pain after pain after pain—” 

John slammed the staple gun on the workbench, which Hudson flinched away from on reflex. Locklear didn’t move and didn’t speak, completely frozen in the desk chair she was tied to, just watching John as he pulled a tattoo gun out of the toolbox. “And when I didn’t think I could take anymore, I did.” 

He slowly walked over to the chair that Winona was trapped in with the same slow predatory ease of a cougar lining up a path of attack on an unsuspecting deer. Locklear’s breath caught as she winced against the sudden light shone on her when John turned on the lamp on the cart and pointed it at his target— his new  _canvas_  of soft tan skin. “Something… broke free inside. I wasn’t scared. I was…  _clear_.” 

He reached over, plugged in the cord, and hooked up the contacts to the gun. It wouldn’t be her first tattoo, but Locklear worried what John intended to write and where. “I looked up at them and I started to laugh. All I could say was… Yes.” John then turned on the tattoo gun, which immediately buzzed to life. Hudson from behind them made a noise to try and dissuade John, but he ignored her. Once he was satisfied the tattoo gun was working, he turned it off. 

“I spent my entire life looking for more things to say ‘yes’ to.” John continued as he reached over, grabbing two fistfuls of the white shirt that Winona had worn to the baptism, and ripped it open from the collar down. Immediately, his eyes fell to the soft line of her collar bone and then lower over the swell of her breasts in the cotton bra she was wearing. Locklear gasped at the rip but kept still, hands balling into fists under her bindings as she seethed with indignance, even as John continued speaking. “I opened up every hole in my body and when those were full, I created more.” 

Their eyes met and Locklear’s mind temporarily short-circuited, stomach somersaulting and skin breaking out into goosebumps. There was an eager hope in his gaze, a ravenous need to please, to prove and assure. His gaze held words he wasn’t going to say in front of their guest, but perhaps… soon. That was definitely the word for the look John gave her.  _Soon_. 

“But it was Joseph who showed me just how selfish I was being,” John sighed as he picked up a sponge and metal bowl and cleaned the dirt and sweat from Locklear’s skin, on the flat of her chest just below her collar bone. “Always  _receiving_ … always  _taking_. The best gift isn’t the one you get, it’s the one you  _give_. And giving takes courage. The courage...” 

Satisfied, John set down the metal bowl and returned to the workbench, talking with his hands as he went. “…to own your sin. To etch it on your flesh and carry its burden, and when you have  _endured_ — when you truly begin to  _atone_ — to cut it out like a cancer and display it for all to see.” 

John laughed breathlessly. “My god, that’s courage.” 

“Cancer can metastasize.” Winona finally spoke lowly, glowering at John for ruining her shirt just to start— she was putting an end to the skinning, once she was able to. John looked up as though he was sincerely surprised to hear her speaking back. “If sin is a cancer, how do you keep it from spreading? And if it’s a poison like you’ve said… what’s the antidote?” 

“Pain and faith.” John answered closed the gap between them, reaching out until his hand was around Locklear’s throat and he could use the bend of his hand before his wrist to force her chin up so she would look up at him. Locklear breathed heavily through her teeth as she glared at him. “And each second of pain is a lifetime of learning, and there is _so much_  to teach you.” 

John returned to the workbench and pulled out a long flathead screwdriver. “I’m going to teach you courage— teach you how to say ‘yes’ so you can confront your weaknesses! Confront your sins! You will swim across an ocean of pain and emerge—  _free_. For only then can you truly begin to atone.” 

Again that promising look came to John’s gaze as he leaned casually against the workbench. “So who wants to go first? Hmm?” 

Winona balked at the question for a moment— what was that question supposed to mean? Hudson’s mouth was taped shut, so it wasn’t as though she was going to volunteer, though she struggled and tried to pull free of her restraints anyway. John persisted, “Which one?” 

Locklear realized she had to volunteer to confess— it had to be a willing acceptance of what they would do to her. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.” 

A brief flush of bemusement flashed over John’s features before he broke into an excited smile, rushing over and gently taking Winona’s face in his hands. “Yes! Yes… you won’t regret this. I promise.” 

 _Soon_. Even  _sooner_  now. 

“Now before we begin, I think it’s only proper that Deputy Hudson goes back to her room.” John explained as he tossed the screwdriver and went over to grab Hudson’s chair. “Confessions are meant to be private, after all.” 

Hudson struggled in her seat, tears running down her cheeks and making Winona’s blood boil. She couldn’t condone this. John shushed Hudson as he wheeled her over in a way that wasn’t at all soothing, “Sshhh, shh. I’m not here to take your life, I’m here to give it to you.” 

Winona scoffed, only to gasp softly as John closed again and caught her around the throat with both hands before she could speak. “I’m going to open you and pour your worst fears inside, and as you  _choke_ , your sins will reveal themselves. Only then will you truly understand the power of yes... I’ll be right back.” 

John Gabe one last cherubic grin as he wheeled Hudson away, while she screamed ‘no’ under the duct tape, knowing what this would mean for Locklear, even if the rookie didn’t. Winona took a deep breath through her nose and focused. She’d confess, she’d cooperate, but she wasn’t leaving Hudson here like this. Once she was sure that they were out of earshot, Locklear set about freeing herself from her ropes. 

Winona hissed through her teeth as she shifted to pull herself with her bound feet. She wheeled herself along the floor to the stairs at the far end of the room. The deliberate spill was a little rough but Locklear managed to keep from banging her head, sprawled on the floor free of the chair. She shook her head out then reached down to untie her legs, and looked around. 

The floor below the one she had been on was filled with boxes of supplies. Winona decided that there wasn’t anything she wanted or needed among the boxes and headed back up the stairs to wait for John to come back, pausing when she saw the duffel bag that Faith had all of Locklear’s things in tucked beside the cart with the tattoo gun on it. 

Locklear rummaged through the bag in a hurry, pulling out a gray flannel of hers with a sigh of relief. She tugged off the ripped shirt and replaced it with the flannel, tucking it in and buttoning it up. Once that was done she continued rummaging,  tucking her badge onto her belt and gasping in relief when the next thing she found was a pocket knife. Winona quickly tucked the knife into her boot as a warning clang alerted her that John was returning. 

Locklear moved to lean against the wall by the door so she wouldn’t be the first thing that John saw when he came into the room. John slowed to a stop, unaware that Winona was there, looking over to the only other doorway which lead to the storage room down the stairs. Winona took three strides over in silence then grabbed John in a headlock from behind. Through gritted teeth, she spoke. 

“I confess,” She breathed as she cut off John’s ability to do the same. “I’m at a loss for your treatment of the people you’re saving. Especially my  _friend_ , Deputy Hudson.” 

John acted quickly, grabbing the closest thing— the lamp he’d had shining on Winona— and swung it back to hit her in the head with it. It collided with her head and she cried out as the hot metal of the bulb holder burned her cheek, releasing John, who spun smoothly on one foot and tackled Locklear to the floor.  

“Now,  _now_ , Deputy,” John purred, pinning Winona’s body with his own, his hands gripping her wrists and pinning them to the metal floor beneath them, settled between her sprawled legs. Locklear gritted her teeth against the vice of John’s hands, then glared up at him defiantly. “This isn’t about me and you know that.” 

Winona knew that John had a silver tongue when he wanted to have one, and if he were any biblical figure he’d really be the snake that suggested an apple for lunch. She slammed her head into his and John grunted, bringing one hand up to cup his forehead as he winced. With one hand free, Locklear reached into her boot and pulled out the knife, flicking it open and pressing the blade to John’s throat. 

“I confess. You listen. And you do not talk unless I say you can speak. Is that clear?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. John swallowed, wincing as the involuntary motion nicked him with the knife. 

“Crystal clear.” John answered, then closed his mouth and stilled completely, looking to the deputy with expectant blue eyes. Winona took a deep breath as John slowly released her other wrist and she moved to cup his neck gently in her free hand. 

“Let’s go chronological. When I was little I used to constantly let my dog eat my vegetables. My mother couldn’t understand how a terrier could make farts that stunk that bad…” Winona trailed off when John rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this boring you? You can answer.” 

“You know what sin is. You know what your sins are. This is all you just stalling.” John’s gaze wasn’t tinged with fear, but instead that same promising, feral hunger he’d given earlier. Winona sincerely couldn’t help letting out an annoyed little whine before growing silent. John waited for her to speak. 

“I always thought I was a little bit better than the people around me because I knew I was smarter than them. I was in college already at 18, knew what I was doing with my life, everything like that.” Winona sighed softly, dropping her head back against the floor. John was settled between her legs, his elbows propping him up so he could listen and not drop his throat down onto the knife in Winona’s hand. 

“I wanted to be a cop because I thought I could change things in my community all by myself.” She shook her head with a bitter laugh. “I was idealistic when I met your brother. And he was too. We believed in each other back then. I didn’t stop being an idealist even when I was the only woman among the rookies in my precinct and the youngest woman on the force to be married. Everyone there always acted so surprised that I was married at 19.” 

“You didn’t think you were too young to get married?” John dared to speak, the softness of his tone had Winona curling her fingers into his hair instead of reprimanding him. 

“I didn’t care. I was in love.” She answered honestly, “Besides, it’s hindsight that’s 20/20, not foresight. I can tell you now I was way too young, and now that I have a good understanding of its pitfalls, I don’t like or believe in the American standard for marriage.” 

“Clearly not.” John muttered, the hand in his hair tightening into a fist and forcing his head back as Winona reapplied the knife to his throat. John once again stilled and fell silent. 

“I did it for Joseph but he’s clearly not cut out for monogamy any more than I am.” Locklear growled, slowly releasing John’s hair and relaxing. “He has a whole gaggle of people admiring him now.” 

“If I told you that no one among his flock has  _feelings_  for the Father, that would be a lie.” John bit out, quick to defend his older brother’s honor. “But as far as Joseph is concerned… he hasn’t seen anyone since you.” 

Winona dropped her head back defeatedly, squinting at the ceiling. “I divorced him so he wouldn’t feel obligated to me.” 

“He said you mailed him the divorce papers. I know he obliged you by signing them.” John was the sort to ensure that divorce papers didn’t leave those he cared about in unfair financial arrangements; when he looked over the papers, he saw hat Winona had asked for nothing but the termination of their marriage.  

“You’re telling me Joseph didn’t want to divorce me?” Winona looked up at John incredulously, then laughed and dropped her head back. “Of course. He just wanted us to despair together for the rest of our lives. His martyr complex…” 

“When I first saw the footage of you getting into Jessop Conservatory, I thought I knew what your sin was, so clearly.” John explained, then grabbed the wrist of Locklear’s hand that was holding the knife. 

The struggle was a brief one once John took hold of Winona and got the knife away from his throat, slamming her hand on the unyielding metal floor until Winona released the knife. The tone changed once the playing field was re-leveled, and Winona retaliated against the assault on one hand by swinging with the other, hitting John with a vicious right hook. John’s head snapped to the side and he straightened back up, grabbing Winona around the throat with both hands. 

Locklear expected her ability to breathe to cut off, but it didn’t. Instead, John kept her still where she lay on the bunker floor and continued explaining his findings. “I thought that your greatest sin was your  _wrath_. Your ability to effortlessly attack, maim, even kill… but no. It’s something worse.” 

“Lust?” Winona murmured without missing a beat. “Because I want you, I want Jacob, and I still want Joseph?” 

“No,” John leaned down and murmured into Winona’s ear huskily. “Lust is want unchecked. You want us, but you want us at no expense to other needs. But… even now, there is a sin that drives your every action, violent or no, lustful or no—” 

Winona’s already-bruising fist collided with John’s face one more time and he released her, the pain behind the blow disorienting him completely and making stars dance behind closed eyes. The woman punched like a powerhouse, dragging John back into dark days in college when he took hits like that just to feel  _anything_  again. 

Winona paused when John spat blood, looking up at her with that same jagged need in his gaze. She knew from that look he could take a harder punch, and to her concern, she knew from that look that John  _wanted_  the pain. Winona reclaimed the knife discarded on the floor, her other hand reaching out and catching John by his shirt. On their knees, the pair moved until Winona had John backed up to the nearest pipe with the knife again at his throat. 

“Your sin…” John laughed breathlessly, but he would not yet name Winona’s sin. “You know what you are, don’t you?” 

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” Winona growled, then reached down and unbuckled John’s belt with one hand, yanking it from the loops. John’s lips parted and his eyebrows raised, but Winona only answered with a scoff. “You think that’s going to happen  _now_?” 

“It might— ah.” He sighed in understanding when Winona strapped John’s wrists together behind the pipe, leaving him sitting back against it. “Do you think I want you that badly?” 

“Oh, John.” Winona teased with the song line, the little tune that the Eden’s Gate choir liked to sing about John baptizing Hope County. Winona motioned to John already straining against the front of his jeans. “Masochism becomes you.” 

“We all have our vices, Deputy.” John all but whispered, his voice unable to rise around the feeling of his heart thudding as it shot into his throat as Winona moved to straddle his waist. 

“You said that pain is a lesson. How do I teach a lesson to someone who  _gets off_  on pain, John?” Winona asked softly, looking into his eyes with unyielding authority and barely-contained desire. Strapping his hands behind his back had his chest pulled taught, making his shirt spread wider and show more of the pale skin beneath.   

Winona appreciated the reversal of the roles as she reached down with the knife and slowly cut one button off, causing the shirt to pop open wider. “I liked that shirt, John. It was from flight school when I got my helicopter piloting license.” 

“Your sin really does drive you. You don’t want me. You don’t want Jacob. You don’t want Joseph. You just want to be  _right_.” John hissed, glaring up at her as she popped off his shirt and vest buttons one by one until the shirt was opened and the scarred, inked skin beneath was laid bare. For all the acid in his voice, Winona noted, he was still hard, still pressing against her as she straddled him. 

 “I want you to stop torturing people. Coping with trauma in a bunker for the next seven years isn’t any way to treat anyone.” Winona answered sincerely. “To make up for it, when we’re done here, I’m releasing everyone who wants to leave. And you’re going to let me do it.” 

At that, John laughed softly, shaking his head. “Heh… oh, you’re serious.” 

“Very.” Winona answered, rocking her hips over his lap, feeling him through the denim separating them both. John’s breath hitched and he turned his face away as he tried to catch it again, but the wind was knocked out of him as she continued to grind over his lap, replaced with a hungry, downright desperate moan. 

“You act like you haven’t been seeing that girl, Holly, on the side.” Winona murmured coyly and John gritted his teeth. 

“I don’t know any Holly—” 

“Sheriff’s department got an anonymous tip, according to the file, that she was involved with you.” Winona smirked, folding the knife and tucking it back into her boot. Her hands reached down and unfastened John’s jeans slowly. “Do you think telling you that counts as tampering with evidence?” 

“You’d be screwed if I were the prosecutor.” 

“I think I’m screwed either way.” 

“Keep playing your cards right, Deputy.” John answered as he failed to keep his voice from sounding too breathless, flexing his fingers as Winona got his jeans out of her way. 

“Do you want me to?” Winona wondered, leaning back enough to look John in the eye. It didn’t really have any indication as to what actions Winona was offering, but neither of them were really concerned with clarifying. John’s chest rose and fell quickly, he was already a little breathless. 

“Yes.” 

She had to admit, it sounded good when he said it like that. Winona’s fingers curled into John’s shirt and vest, holding the material for leverage as she teased him with more friction, she waited until John was panting heavier to rise from his lap and begin unfastening her own jeans. 

John watched Winona pop open the button and zip down the fly on her jeans in utter captivation before she pushed the jeans down and out of her way, followed by her underwear. She lowered herself down onto his lap and the urge to free him bubbled up in her bones— she wanted his arms around her, wanted to feel his muscles tense with the motion of their bodies together— but she kept to the task at hand. 

Deft fingers quickly set about getting John’s jeans and his  _actually blue_  briefs out of her way; Winona smirked to herself when his cock all but sprung out of the confines. John’s breath hitched at the exposure to the air, the sensitive skin feeling so hot by contrast. The torture began once Winona found the angle that served her best. 

Her thighs felt the burn of keeping still as Winona let her eyes drift closed and began to roll her hips. John grunted, breath hitching as he looked down and saw he  _wasn’t_  inside her. The words were spilling from his lips in a husky rumble before he could help it. “You’re that wet for me, hmm?” 

Winona looked up into John’s eyes— how the hell were they that blue— and answered breathlessly as she ground over his lap, rocking her hips up and down the length of his cock. “I will atone for you, John, but my Atonement does not absolve you from my judgement in the end.” 

John deserved credit for trying to keep his eyes open, trying to keep quiet while she spoke, but the friction was torturously pleasurable, hot and slick and  _not enough_. He could feel  _all_  of her but  _inside_  her where he truly wanted to be. The press of his cock between her legs was the right kind of friction against her clit that soon enough, Winona realized, she’d be able to climax from just this.  

“Winona,” John sounded completely gone as he panted her name, bucking his hips up against her for more and getting nothing. Winona slowed her moments, grinding on him as one hand moved from holding his shoulder to reach up and fist a hand in his hair as she continued to move. “Let me—” 

“No.” She answered in a keening breath, chasing after her pleasure at his willing expense. “You have to earn it, John… You have to show me you want to do better.” 

And the proverbial flood gates opened— John dropping his head back against the pipe with the dirtiest, most wanton moan Winona had ever heard— before he was finally begging the way Winona had wanted him to. 

“Please, I swear, I can….  _Fuck_ , I can do better, please Winona— I want to, I promise,  _please_ —” 

“John,” Winona took John’s face in her hands, leaning in like she might kiss him. John leaned into it, mindless and wanton, eager for more sensation. But she didn’t kiss him, rocking her hips on his lap faster, pressing a little harder. “Please _what_ , John… Tell me what you want.” 

She had the clarity to have an expectation, through the heat pooling in her stomach and the electricity running through her spine, burning across her skin. She thought John would beg to fuck her, would have the audacity to ask for it. Instead— 

“Please, come for me, Winona… I wanna hear you, please—” 

Winona’s breath hitched, exhaled in a strained whimper as her orgasm rolled over her in waves, whiting out her vision and sending a tremble of pleasure through her taut thighs as she bucked her hips against John’s and he was left, panting and hungry, unsatisfied. 

Winona’s sense of self returned to her, but her eyes remained closed as she caught her breath, head dropped onto John’s shoulder as he kissed and nipped over the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. Finally, she sat up and pulled away from John’s eager but gentle bites, and got to her unsteady feet, admiring the mess she’d left on the floor. That mess being John Seed. 

His legs sprawled without Winona’s thighs to keep them where she wanted them, his shirt and vest open and his achingly hard cock leaking precome as he looked up at her, lips parted and hair disheveled from Winona pulling on it. 

For a while Winona was silent and just catching her breath, reaching over and cleaning herself up with a few tissues out of a box tucked onto one of the carts. She then pulled up her underwear and jeans and refastened them, all the while watching John pant and writhe on the floor. “You look good like this.” 

“You look good when you come.” John smirked in a way that made Winona want to slap him. Instead, Winona crouched down over him again and took his length in hand to squeeze tauntingly, humming softly as how slick he was from her own arousal . John was responsive, gasping softly and bucking into Winona’s hand. 

“You shouldn’t gloat, John.” Winona purred as she sped her hand up, thumb rubbing over the head until he was panting raggedly again, stomach tightening as his pleasure mounted. “Because you’re only going to make this harder on yourself.” 

“Winona—  _FUCK!_ ” There was a pause before John swore, and he did so in a shout because Winona had released him, leaving him keyed up and helpless. An echo of bootfalls came through the cracked door John had returned through. 

“John? Uh— sir?” A man’s voice called out.  

Winona looked to John, her gaze dark and daring. “You have a choice to make, John. This can end and you can stop me right now. Or you can trust me.” 

John’s gaze didn’t shy away from Winona’s challenge, and finally, he took a breath to speak. 

— 

“Rook…?” Hudson looked up in disbelief as her cell door opened and Locklear stepped inside, ripped shirt replaced with the gray flannel and her hair falling over her shoulders. Hudson was free of her bindings, having been untied before the cell door had been closed on her by John. 

“Hey, c’mon, you’re getting out of here.” Winona walked over and hugged Hudson, then motioned it the door. “We’re loading up everyone who wants to leave and taking them over the Henbane to the County Jail where they’ll be safe.” 

“Is John dead…?” Hudson asked dazedly, shuffling out of the cell with her. Locklear kept a hand on Hudson’s shoulder to steady her and shook her head. 

“No, of course not. He’s not calling the shots with this. I am.” Winona continued down the corridor, holding Hudson to her side when she reflexively panicked upon seeing a Peggy walking down the corridor. The man in question bowed his head politely to them both and continued walking. 

“I’m in the fucking twilight zone…” Hudson breathed, accepting the shotgun Locklear put in her hands once they had arrived in the control room. “I’ll— I’ll get the cells open.” 

“Perfect. I’ll get everyone who’s leaving— a couple of folks from Fall’s End are bringing a bus up from US Auto.” Winona gave Hudson a reassuring smile. “Just stay here and don’t engage anyone.” 

“Don’t have to tell me that twice.” Hudson grumbled as Locklear left the control room. In less than ten minutes, Hudson and twenty people from the small sleepy town of Fall’s End were all filing out the blast doors of John’s bunker into the sunlight for first time in weeks. A yellow school bus was parked in the lot before the bunker, community pillar Pastor Jerome behind the wheel.  

Winona walked over and offered the Pastor her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you in person, Pastor. I know the radio call was a weird one.” 

“It’s good to see you’re alright, Deputy. Most people who get baptized don’t come out of that bunker.” Pastor Jerome pointed out grimly. 

“Til now.” Winona motioned to the people filing onto the bus. “If any of them want to come back, call me.” 

Pastor Jerome looked puzzled, uncertain of why anyone would want to return to the bunker. Winona clearly thought it was worth it to leave the proverbial door, and looked to Hudson, who looked relieved but tired, asking quietly. “You’re coming with us, right?” 

“I’ll escort in my truck.” Winona explained with a reassuring smile, which faded a little when she saw John darken the doorway to the bunker. He was in a simple black henley instead of his ruined shirt and vest, and he looked like he didn’t approve of the situation at all. She sighed softly. “Keep everyone calm, I’ll be right behind you.” 

Winona walked over and up the ramp to the bunker door, looking John over. “Nice shirt.” 

“Thanks, someone ruined my last one.” John answered, reaching over and pulling Winona closer by her arm. “Be careful. Trust no one who isn’t us.” 

“So you  _do_  forgive me.” Winona hummed into the kiss John pressed to her lips, returning it chastely before turning and heading over to her truck. As the bus pulled out, Winona looked over her shoulder at John. “I’ll be back tonight.” 

John watched her get into the truck in a wanting sort of resignation. He wished for her to stay. They had more to discuss and they both knew it. Winona pulled out onto the road, following after the bus at a safe distance, glancing in the rear view mirror once. She would be back tonight, she told herself, and they’d talk, get some sleep and tomorrow she’d probably finish her Atonement.  

Coming down from the bunker didn’t take too much time, the bus taking the turns slowly until they were all out in the open road, heading towards Fall’s End. Winona flipped though until she had the radio playing a song she liked. It would take time for John to prove he wasn’t going to hurt anyone else, but Winona was patient enough for the task of keeping him reigned in. She now understood that’s why Joseph trusted her; she wasn't someone who had been with Eden's Gate from the beginning but still agreed with Joseph's beliefs, and could hold them accountable in a way their people couldn't. Everything was going according to plan— 

 ** _BOOM._**  

Until it wasn’t. 

The collision came from a van tearing down a dirt road and directly into the passenger side of Winona’s truck. The whiplash of the hit  slammed her head into the driver door, leaving Winona with a nasty bump on the head, reeling— she truly was getting sick and tired of all of the car accidents she'd been getting into, especially considering this one hit her truck. 

Blinking at the van that hit her, Winona could see a young woman in the driver's seat, her thick, dark hair falling into her face and over her shoulders. The bus continued driving down the street, while Winona remained trapped in her dented up truck as the strange woman in the van hopped out. 

“Deputy Winona Locklear.” She addressed Winona with a voice that didn’t have a Hope County twang to it. The deputy winced as she tried to sluggishly to get her door open. The handle didn’t move, and she touched absently at the wound on her head that was beginning to bleed. 

“Who the hell are you?” Winona asked softly, looking up at her. 

“A ghost of Eden’s Gate.” The woman answered as she yanked open the passenger door. By the time she had a firm hold on Winona to yank her from the truck, Winona was unconscious. 


End file.
